


Once You're Gone, You Can't Come Back

by tellmesweetlittlelies



Series: It's Better to Burn Out Than Fade Away [3]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-16 03:11:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 43,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21500905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmesweetlittlelies/pseuds/tellmesweetlittlelies
Summary: **Final sequel to Into the Black and Out of the Blue** After a drastic decision regarding her future, Tara finds herself unsure whether she'll ever be able to face up to the choices she's made. Meanwhile, with Opie in prison, Jax has his own crises, leaving them both in previously unexplored territory.
Relationships: Donna Winston/Opie Winston, Gemma Teller Morrow/John Teller, Herman Kozik/Original Female Character(s), Tara Knowles/Jax Teller
Series: It's Better to Burn Out Than Fade Away [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1478363
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	1. Prologue

***I own nothing you recognize***

_The first few weeks are the hardest._

It's the first thought in Tara's mind as her eyes open, slowly, skittering past the spot in the bed she can't help but leave empty for him; briefly, she reassures herself for the umpteenth time that it won't always feel like this- it won't always hurt this badly. Anything, really, to dredge up even one shred of conviction that she won't be spending the rest of her life like the walking wounded, oblivious to everything but the persistent ache in her chest.

It's a thought she's had before, actually- though she can admit she's moved the goalposts a bit since that first awful night in that seedy motel.

Yes, introspection had been cold comfort that first night, fresh off what had seemed the longest drive of her life. She'd stopped the first time at a truck stop barely outside the Charming city limits and spent ten minutes crouched on the shoulder next to the Cutlass and emptying the contents of her stomach onto the cracked pavement. It wasn't the only such stop she'd made, and progress had been slowed by both the literal fog that shrouded the highway and the fog of panic, doubt, and grief that had filled the small space within the car. Even the tattoo shop- which had drawn her like a moth to a flame, then left her numb yet stinging- satiated, yet somehow still on fire with pain for him and everything they used to be- had been only a brief reprieve from what seemed like the world's longest drive to actual hell.

Tara had plied the owner of the tattoo shop for directions to the aforementioned hotel, and he'd reluctantly complied- evidently, he'd been hesitant to send a young girl to a third-rate dive even as the new ink he'd etched into her skin welled up with blood. Nevertheless, she'd arrived fifteen minutes later… only to find a row of Harley Davidsons looming at the corner of the lot, and had absolutely, fucking frozen- torn between the two halves of herself that had been warring ever since she'd spotted the first bike just outside of Lodi.

Her rational half told her SAMCRO was all the way up in Tacoma on some important run or other. Hell, it was the entire reason she'd left when she did- even one glimpse of his beloved face would have been fatal to the new plan she'd scrambled together once Jax had made it clear the one they'd made together was likely never going to happen. She'd never have been able to force herself to leave him, a fact the other, emotional half of her wouldn't let her forget.

 _Coward_ , it had been whispering, practically ever since she'd found herself unable to look at the framed photos of herself and Jax as she stuffed them into her duffel bag. Tara had found herself well unable to disagree a full eight hours later, slumping down into the driver's seat as she watched a ragtag group of older, civvie-clad hobbyists exit the motel and cross the lot towards the bikes, barely giving her or the Cutlass a second glance… It wasn't Jax and a bunch of SAMCRO, here to drag her back to Charming- a thought that was somehow simultaneously a tremendous relief and a disappointment to more of her than she'd liked to admit.

Later, delirious with exhaustion- yet too wired with panic and grief to sleep- she'd found herself lying fully clothed under the sheets- curled inward and questioning every thought she'd ever had, every move she'd ever made. And still, that nagging voice, whispering its poison into her ear until she was ready to scream- until it had merged with that of the one other person besides Jax and SAMCRO she hadn't dared to say goodbye to before she'd left Charming in her rearview mirror.

_Coward..._

" _I always thought the two of you might end up together… But you break his heart, and I'll be your worst enemy, make no mistake about that."_

It seems Gemma had been right- Christ, maybe she'd even seen this coming that first day back at the clubhouse. Especially since Tara had left him before, at the age of nine, and then returned from San Diego at fifteen to find him changed- both from the influence of SAMCRO and the loss of his baby brother. Still, he'd taken no more than the better part of a day to reveal that the big heart and conflicted soul she'd grown to love as a child was still in residence within him. It had taken even less than that to prove that the connection she'd always felt between them had not only failed to wane over the years but had actually transformed into something that defied her understanding. _Bone deep_ was the term she'd settled on to describe their connection at the time; she'd thought she'd felt it- this pull towards him- in the very bones of her.

Now, though, Tara realized that pull was more than just their mutual need for the other, just as she'd found the way her heart seemed tied to his went much deeper than that.

 _No shit,_ her unfailingly rational scientist's brain said, completely ignoring the way the rest of her body practically shuddered under the weight of the pain pressing down on her. _He's got your heart, and the heart is posterior to the sternum._ Still, no anatomy or physiology she'd learned would ever begin to explain the actual, physical, ache in her chest now that it had been ripped away from his.

 _The first night's the hardest_ , she'd told herself for the first time, switching off the bedside lamp and sinking into darkness. Then, as now, she'd been swamped with memories of him- the smile lines that crinkled his crooked grin; the way his almost unearthly blue eyes seemed to darken when he was loving her just the way she liked; the way he'd hold her afterward, her head resting on his chest even as his heartbeat settled back into its usual cadence; his lips pressing those absent, unhurried kisses against her hair that she'd always wondered if he even knew she'd noticed.

In fact, she'd noticed _everything_ about Jackson Teller- the way his cocky, fuck-you swagger just barely hid the tender parts of him he chose not to expose to most, the way he'd always saved his heart for her. It's like he'd counted on her to protect it, help him keep his vulnerability and the soul he didn't think he was supposed to have under wraps from his club. The one thing she'd missed, though, until it was too late, was the moment he'd stopped being her _Jackson_ \- something he'd been since he was barely six years old- and truly become _Jax Fucking Teller_.

And finally, she couldn't do it anymore- let her whole life be about him, while her own self languished somewhere within, buried under a pile of leather and crow feathers. She couldn't go on needing someone so much that she felt she couldn't breathe without him. Couldn't handle the thought that she was solely responsible for another person's emotions, that he'd shuttered his heart in a box to put in her safekeeping with a silent warning that it never be let out again.

So, she left- before she truly lost herself. Before she became Gemma, who lived and breathed for the men of SAMCRO. Before she became Luann, willing to empty her bank account and risk imprisonment herself to save the love of her life- and more than willing to let someone else do it for her. Before she became Donna, without family and without the man that had promised her a new one of her own someday.

Maybe- because she realized she already saw herself in all three of these women of SAMCRO, at the end of the day-Tara left before she found herself shoved in the box with Jax's heart, forgotten.

God, she'd loved him- and, as if to prove it to herself and the ghosts of those she'd left behind- Tara had finally shattered, the sparse room seeming to echo her sobs tenfold.

And now, after her first weeks in her crappy studio apartment- procured with a good chunk of her earnings from the vet clinic since the available summer dorm space had been claimed weeks ago- how far has she really come since the day she'd decided to leave? The part of her that had marinated in guilt and misery isn't as much a part of the past as she wanted it to be, and even Jax pulling away from her hadn't snapped the invisible thread that connects their two hearts. If anything, the pull seems even stronger than before- continues to pull taut with each passing mile and each passing day, threatening to tear her heart in two.

Tara can only compare her new life to all she'd had, and all she'd lost… but despite her efforts to make this place her own, is just doesn't feel like a home without him. He'd been her home, her safe place for so long that even with her trinkets and the one photo of them she could bear to display – the others of Ope and Donna, of JT and Gemma and Trinity still zipped safely in her duffel bag- what the place is lacking is beginning to become painfully clear.

Here, there are no motorcycles idling outside to transmit their comforting rumbling deep into her chest, no bikers doing their best to stand in as parents, and nobody to confide in save the slightly awkward student manager that had handed her the keys to the place. No discarded notepad and white sneakers to grace the foot of her bed or heated kisses in the dead of the night; no bright blue eyes that once saw her – _all_ of her – as much more than what was on the surface. No strong arms to hold her, no shoulder upon which she could cry- and, worst of all... no _love_.

What Tara _does_ have, though- aside from a broken heart, a Cutlass in desperate need of an oil change, and an efficiency in the oldest part of campus- is a full slate of classes beginning in a goddamn hour, thanks to the provisionary scholarship letter she has in hand. Opportunity she can't afford to waste – intellectually, spiritually, and definitely not financially.

And so, without anyone here to push her in the right direction, reward her efforts, or motivate her when she just doesn't know if she can go on, Tara repeats the mantras that had gotten her through these first few weeks without Jackson and hopefully through the years of hard work ahead;

_The first few weeks are the hardest… keep it together, Knowles._

_Day one._

* * *

Jax awakens to the sound of voices- heated whispers, at first, but steadily becoming clearer as the thick, thudding, hangover fog in his brain lifts just a bit.

"-the hell'd he get here, John? I _thought_ we agreed that the clubhouse-"

"He _was_ stayin' over at the clubhouse, Gem; but if you'll remember, it was _you_ who wanted him cleared outta there for a couple days." There's silence, but Jax can hear the skittering of his mother rifling through her purse, and isn't surprised to hear the flint and flare of the lighter a few moments later.

"And if _you'll_ remember, I said I needed a day or two to give the girls time to get the place cleared out and scrubbed, get all traces of.. Of _her_ outta there, get the new bed set up, get rid of that old quilt he dragged over there from the apartment… _all_ that shit." At this, Jax feels the same sharp pang he had that first night at Tara's apartment when he'd found it empty, last night when he'd walked into his room at the clubhouse, and, hell, every goddamn miserable day between.

He'd thought he'd get used to the sensation over time- that it would eventually become a part of him, an ache that slowly throbbed until he could live with it… until it sharpened each time a particular memory- a thought, a song, a smell- came about to remind him of what he'd lost. Unfortunately, he knows by now there's nothing, nobody and noplace that didn't remind him of Tara; she's _everywhere_ , surrounding him, yet sickeningly fucking _nowhere_ at the same time. The resulting effect is something he can only compare to razor wire wrapped around his goddamn heart. Every thought he has of her seemed to squeeze just that little bit harder, slice just a little bit deeper, knife just a little bit sharper… and he'd only found two ways to dull its edges so he doesn't completely lose his shit.

"Gem…" his father sighs wearily, his voice an apt reflection of just how bone-tired Jax feels, "He loved her- still does. No amount of cleaning is gonna erase that memory."

There's a lengthy pause, and Jax knows Gemma's eyeing his father, sizing up his potential responses while she takes a deep drag on her cigarette; she'd always had an uncanny way of reading Jax and JT both, and Jax had instinctively avoided her for weeks, preferring to keep his pain to himself.

He'd awoken in Tara's apartment that first full day without her miserable, furious and torn- half-ready to ride off after her and fuck the club, fuck his responsibilities… and half ready to gather up every last memory the two of them had shared, pile it on the bed, and burn the place to the ground. Instead, he'd stuffed most of his shit into a backpack, swallowed his hurt, and just… gone on with life, unsure what else to do.

As word had spread about Tara's disappearance it became clear she'd told nobody where she'd gone. JT, Chibs, and Kozik had all made unsuccessful attempts at making inroads into his current mental state- by turn gentle, commiserating, and brotherly. While all of them were much more welcomed than the hovering flock of women that had resumed their advances practically the minute Tara had gone, Jax had shut even his father down instantly, neither willing nor able to talk about it- about _her_.

Jax had fully expected Gemma to hit the goddamn roof- she'd always liked the idea of the two of them together, but had pushed Tara, hard, toward the SAMCRO queen avenue she herself had taken. So, he'd steered clear of both T-W and his parents' house, hoping to dodge the inevitable blowup he knew was coming. To his surprise, his mother had only cornered him and prodded him to come home for a couple days, expertly avoiding any mention of just why he'd been marinating in Jack and weed whenever he wasn't on a club job.

As it turns out, however, Gemma had been furiously working behind the scenes- a fact that had become evident when he'd unlocked the apartment over at the clubhouse to find it completely changed from the last time he'd been in it.

He'd been exhausted from the protection run they'd just returned from, half-drunk and mostly just ready to bury his face in the pillow and quilt he'd stuffed into his backpack at Tara's apartment- _God, how fucking, fucking pathetic is he_ \- and seeing it all gone had dredged up every last bit of what he'd felt walking into her apartment weeks ago. It had taken a good plenty more swigs from the bottle dangling from his fingers to numb the clawing sensation in his chest insistently urging him towards destruction. Just like at Tara's, he'd had to fight the compulsion to put his foot through the door, his fist through the wall and rage against her, against the memories, and against anyone that would take them from him.

He'd gotten as far as the dresser- stalking across the room to find it devoid of his favorite photo, the one of them on his bike someone had taken on his sixteenth birthday- before coming face to face with the one person responsible for this whole fucking shit show. He hadn't planned on what happened next, really; almost didn't realize that what he was doing in his own mind- punishing the person that had truly taken her away from him, taking a swing at the face that made him sick to his goddamn stomach to even look at- would actually happen in real life,

Until it did.

Until the glass tinkling on the floor and the pain radiating from his knuckles and on up his wrist had snapped him back to reality- his shitty, lonely reality. And, nearly unaware of the blood dripping from his hand, he watched how dark crimson mixed with the shards of glass scattered on the floor. Watched as jarringly red droplets marred the surface of his once-pristine Nikes- now just as obscene and ugly as his life without her. He'd seized the rest of the bottle, turned on his heel- grinding the glass beneath his feet into a fine powder- and fled.

"Goddamit, John- you go out there and take one look at him and tell me she didn't absolutely crush him." The slam of a cabinet door punctuates Gemma's statement, and JT breathes a heavy sigh.

"Oh, I gathered that much by watchin' him try and drink her away these past few weeks- and even if I hadn't, I'd've gotten a clue just lookin' at the state of his goddamn bike on my way in." Now, jolted back into the bleak present, Jax grits his teeth- though he's unsure whether it's against the argument in his parents' kitchen, the pounding in his head or the sudden flood of realization that he's got no recollection of riding here last night.

"Which is why it became clear I needed to do somethin'. _Look_ at him, hopeless and pining over lost pussy-"

"Jesus Christ Gemma- you've been watchin' 'em since they were kids, just like I have. You _know_ she's more than that to him- to _all_ of us!" His father's flare of temper is outmatched only by Jax's own, and it's only the crippling headache, coupled with the shame-inducing realization that he'd spent the first days after she'd left unsuccessfully trying to convince himself of the same- that Tara was just pussy- that prevents him from defending her. As he gingerly tries to raise himself into a somewhat vertical position, he's not sure what's worse- the hangover or feeling like a goddamn hypocrite. At any rate, Gemma's next words just serve to make him feel worse.

"Love the man, then you'll learn to love the club… it's practically in the goddamn SAMCRO handbook. She _said_ she loved him, John, so he believed her- and it sounds like she's got you fooled too, sweetheart-" _Christ_ … exhaustion draining away, only to be replaced by anger, Jax shifts rather unsteadily to the edge of the couch.

"Gem-" But Gemma pays no attention to the note of warning in JT's voice, nor to the fact that the subject of their current conversation is stirring in the other room- continuing on as if he hadn't even spoken.

"And the first time it gets hard, the little bitch cuts and runs-"

"Enough!" JT shouts, fiercely enough to stem the flow of words from Gemma's mouth, and loudly enough to send Jax to his feet in the living room. "The first time, Gem? The _first_ time? She's seen her father's life threatened, the president of this club nearly killed, the successor shot in the fucking head, a patched member and his wife ran off the road and killed, another arrested for murder… and then one of her best friends in the world got locked up for years of his goddamn life. And don't forget, she had a front row seat for just how well the rest of us- including your son and her own goddamn father- dealt with all of this shit... which usually wasn't all that fucking well. The fact that she stayed as long as she did, even after she graduated and got a full ride to half the goddamn schools in the state… I think that's pretty goddamn good proof of h _ow much she loved him_."

Halting about halfway through the room, his head swimming and his heart lurching at what had turned into what's basically a statement of charges against practically everyone he cares about except Tara, Jax can see his mother stub out her cigarette before drawing up to her full height- bolstered by her spike-heeled boots- and glaring at JT.

"She knew what SAMCRO was, what _Jackson_ was, before she ever set foot back in this town-" Gemma hisses, propping one hand on her hip and jabbing the other in dangerously close proximity to JT's chest "-and _still_ she takes off just when he needs her most, and in the most chickenshit way possible. I _told_ her little sneaky ass from the beginning; you break his heart, and I'll-"

"You'll what, Ma?" Jax demands hoarsely, his voice- unused since the night before- a furious croak that causes both his parents to whirl to face him, startled. He stalks the rest of the way into the kitchen, his face halting inches from his mother's defiant one. "Kick her ass? Track her down and threaten her so you can finish erasing her from my life just like you did the goddamn apartment? Or maybe you'll take her out like your boyfriend tried to do to my father-"

He's not surprised when Gemma slaps him, her palm making a resounding thwack that fails to knock the sneer off his face or stop the venom from pouring from his mouth.

"See, I've had time to do some thinking- shit, since Tara left, it's _all_ I've been able to do. And what I _think_ , Mom, is that people associated with this club have fucked with my family enough!" He doesn't tell her to leave Tara the fuck alone- doesn't have to; the threat, silent as it is, hangs in the air even as his words seem to echo in the small room. Gemma, however, merely narrows her eyes dangerously and sets her jaw, shrugging off the hand JT attempts to rest placatingly on her shoulder.

"I'll let that go, Jackson, because I know how much you're hurting right now." Jax snorts- she'd _let it go_ in the way only Gemma Teller can. "But it's time you accepted things for what they are, Baby- Tara ain't family. _Not anymore_." At this, Jax can only shake his head, digging his blunt nails into his palms as he clenches and unclenches his fists- unable to look at her for another moment because the barely-concealed rage he'd been harboring for weeks has nothing to temper it. He really doesn't fucking trust himself at the moment.

"You know what, Ma? Forget what I said about the club- 'cause I've done enough of my own shit to push Tara away." He turns to leave, desperate to get out- away from his mother's glare and his father's goddamn sympathy- even though he deserved the former much more than the latter.

"Baby-" As her fingers encircle his wrist, he snatches his hand away, sending her flinching and his father starting forward. _Christ._

"Don't- just don't, Ma, okay?" _Jesus,_ his goddamn voice is wavering again as a direct result of the fucking lump that had reappeared in his throat- he's really got to get the fuck out of here. "Only one person gets to decide who I make my family. What I do, what Tara does? It ain't your business- not anymore."

And just like that, there's nothing left to say- despite the fact that Gemma seems on the verge of striking him yet again. Especially under his father's watchful eye- somehow a mixture of both sympathy and disappointment… in him? _For_ him? That, Jax doesn't know...and he doesn't really give a shit.

He's outside and wincing, inwardly, at the way his bike's haphazardly parked half on the grass and half on the goddamn sidewalk- haunted by visions of Rick Knowles' Cutlass parked much this way years ago- before he realizes he hadn't bothered to close the door. And as his mother's reproachful calls sail out the door after him, he realizes too late that he'd only left himself with one option for loosening the razor-sharp vise Tara had tightened around his heart- at least until today's run is behind him and he's behind closed doors once again.

It's still true; something therapeutic happens at around 92 miles an hour… and maybe one day, Jax won't need to push his bike's- or his body's- limits just to keep functioning, to keep thoughts of Tara at bay and both his brothers and his family off his back.

Today is not that day.

***A/N- so, we're here! The final installment of my "what if" AU. Obviously, this is just a prologue- a sort of "where we're at" featuring both Jax and Tara. As you can see, there's relatively little action and a lot more misery; that will change as the story progresses and some of those questions from the end of Out of the Blue get answered. Thanks for sticking with me so far, and watch for a full-fledged chapter that will reveal more about what's going on with each of them soon.***


	2. Ch 1

****I own nothing you recognize****

The breeze rustles the leaves of the graceful old willow, sending spots of moonlight floating around them… but all Jax can see is her, resting her forehead on his and gazing down at him through her thick lashes, those big green eyes darkening as a beautiful smile graces her lips.

"What?" he can't help but ask, grinning back up at her- because he can't _not_ , not when she's looking at him this way. She doesn't answer- at least not right away, just turns her head slightly so she can graze his cheek with those soft pink lips, trailing warm breath along his skin until she reaches her destination. Then, she's whispering in his ear, setting off the chain reaction that had been unavoidable practically ever since her return from San Diego when he was sixteen.

Jax can no more stop himself from succumbing to it than he can the moon from shifting in the heavens above them. He drags his mouth to hers, basking in her soft, swollen heat as he threads his fingers in the warmth of her hair. His tongue finds hers just as her delicate, surgeon's hands find his jaw, stroking the soft edges of his whiskers and pulling him subtly towards her. All mirth slides away- replaced by reverence as he breathes her in and pours his soul into hers, infusing the promises he still hadn't figured out how to keep into every last stroke of his tongue, every last brush of his lips; accepting the ones she still doesn't know how to give with every press of her hips. Somehow, though, as her fingers trail down his chest, it's not enough; everything he knows, everything she makes him feel threatens to burst from within him, as if it's not real until it's there in the tiny amount of space between then… until she _knows_. Suddenly frantic to _tell_ her, stop himself from making the same mistakes he'd made one too many times before, Jax tears his mouth from hers, pausing momentarily to note the glazed desire and confusion in her eyes but only so he can give her his word.

"I love you, Tara."

Llove he's sure he doesn't deserve glows in her eyes, renewed. Without hesitation, pain, or any of the confliction he'd seen there the last time he'd told her- without him having to ask for a response this time- she's already speaking, her voice a soft whisper in the darkness.

"I love you, Jackson."

Before he has time to dread what might be coming next, she's skimming the gauzy camisole over her head and sending it sailing off into the night, ignoring his hands, which are already trailing up her sides, heading for their ultimate destination at the front clasp of her lacy bra. Instead, she chooses to tilt her mouth toward his, waiting until she's a breath away before whispering again- this time against his lips. "Now, _love me_ -"

Jax jerks awake, eyes flying open only to rest on the empty spot on the clubhouse apartment's bed he still habitually reserves for her, mocking him with its emptiness. Really, it's as if his goddamn _dream_ is what's mocking him- setting up some poor simulation of them, and then yanking it away once again, dragging back the familiar ache in his chest he'd unsuccessfully been chasing away since she'd left. He closes his eyes against the moonlight- so stark compared to the gentle glow that had surrounded them in his dream- desperate to recapture the moment he'd lost, all too willing to sink back into a fantasy world if only it included her. She'd been begging him to love her, only she'd never really had to beg at all. He'd reach up, release the clasp between her breasts, bury himself in the baby-soft skin there, breathing in her scent until-

Groaning, he rolls over, away from the looming empty space- the persistent quivering of his dick reminding him of what else he'd been trying to recapture while simultaneously reassuring him that no matter how vivid, dream Tara doesn't have shit on the real thing. Seizing the unfamiliar bottle on his bedside table next to the alarm clock currently glaring 3:48 AM, he glances at the label- _the fuck is Old Crow_ \- before tilting it to his lips and draining the last dregs. Wincing at the burn and willing away the throbbing at the base of his skull in addition to the one between his legs, he reluctantly rolls to the edge of the bed to sit up, having learned all too well these past weeks that neither rest nor his girl would return.

Except… this is the first time she'd come to him in a dream- at least like this. Sure, he'd been plagued with visions of her turning away from him: climbing into the Cutlass and driving away without a second glance, or gazing at him regretfully before turning to rest her head on her new boyfriend's shoulder- the one who'd made time for her and sure as hell didn't have a group of outlaws guiding his future.

Shaking his head as if to rid it of those thoughts- though all that does is intensify the blistering headache he feels coming on, Jax refocuses, intent on figuring out just what's different about this particular dream. She'd been loving him, and happy- fucking blissful if he had to find a word for it-that's the main thing. And they'd been under the willow- under their tree, in _their_ spot. It's the place he'd always been able to find the real Tara, show her the real him without fear of distraction or interruption- without the rest of the world creeping in.

Really, if she ever comes back to him, it's the one place he knows she'd go now that her apartment, the clubhouse- and anywhere Gemma is- are off the table. He tries, without much success, to ignore the seed of light that's just implanted itself into his chest. He doesn't believe in signs- hasn't since the last sign he thought he'd been sent had left nothing but an empty apartment and a goddamn letter behind- but… Christ, that _dream_ …

Suddenly, he's bolting up off the edge of the bed, dizziness from the previous night's revelry draining away as he's filled with…. Well, _something_. _Something_ is driving him as he pulls on a fresh pair of jeans and plucks a t-shirt off the chest near the bed. _Something_ has him jamming his feet into his Nikes and snatching up the hoodie and smokes he'd dropped onto the dresser top when he'd stumbled in here last night. And _something_ has him rifling through his duffel bag for the familiar, small gift-wrapped box- before he realizes he hasn't seen it since he'd sauntered into Tara's apartment weeks ago intent on smoothing things over.

Whatever it is- a half-crazed attempt to re-enter the dream he'd been unwillingly dragged from, a foolish hope at an infinitesimal shot he's got that somehow this really had been a sign and she's there and dreaming about him- it has him grabbing his bike keys and his journal, and shouldering the door open, locking his misery and his kutte behind him.

Leaving the clubhouse is easier than he'd anticipated, even at going on four on a Sunday morning; apparently, everyone had either crept home to sleep off the booze from Saturday night or simply passed out in place- Jax doesn't know whether to laugh or cringe as he creeps past a half-dressed Bobby, dead to the world on the pool table, his arm around a redhead who's decidedly _not_ Precious… so he does both. Reaching the relative freedom of the lot, he halts only to shove a cigarette between his lips and light it, sucking the poison down like he's been doing it his whole life- which he practically had until she'd returned and he'd found himself an even better vice… one with a pull so strong, he'd had no choice but to sink into its sweet oblivion. Now that she's been ripped away from him, it's like all his other demons have been lining up to take her place.

At first, Jax lets the Dyna go where it wills, seemingly following its whims at random as he prowls the streets of Charming, uncaring that the low rumble of his bike is probably waking the good citizens, unsure still whether he's escaping or chasing his memories. Past the cafe, the school, the clinic and her apartment, unable to avoid her ghost even on the one goddamn road that will take him out this side of town. It ceases to matter once his bike hits the blacktop at the edge of town- the one that turns to gravel at the edge of the Wahewa reservation- and he allows himself once again to focus on the thoughts that the ride hadn't been able to chase away. He can't help it- can't help the sliver of irrational hope that sets itself up somewhere deep inside the thrumming vibrations the Dyna's sending through his body any more than he can help the desperate edge the ride takes once his inevitable destination is in close proximity.

As the bike bumps down the soft dirt path like it had every other time he'd been out here, he can't keep himself from wondering if the twisting tightness in his chest is dreadful anticipation, or simply the family flaw, come to claim him at last. And when he reaches their tree, Jax barely bothers to release the center stand before sliding his leg off the seat and nearly dropping the bike in the dirt in his haste to push through the graceful branches that shelter its heart. Stopping dead, gazing at what he finds there, he's pretty sure that feeling in his heart is the goddamn family flaw.

It must be- that's the only explanation he can find for the painful seizing thing it seems to be doing now as he takes in the deserted haven beneath the tree. Bracing a hand against the trunk, he lowers himself to the earth, all the exhaustion, dizziness, and emptiness he'd pushed away earlier in the clubhouse rushing back until he's not confident his legs will hold him. Closing his eyes, he ignores the pain and tries to grasp at the last bits of her that filter through him from the dream- already not as vivid, but just as devastating. She slips away again, just as she had in his previous visions of her- and although he wants nothing more than to follow her somehow, he slips instead into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

Hours later, the sun breaks over the horizon- cracking, brutally, through the slits of Jax's eyelids and dragging him reluctantly back into consciousness. Pressing back against the willow's trunk in a feeble attempt to stretch his aching muscles, he grimaces- already regretting every last swallow of the whiskey that now taints the back of his throat. Reaching for his cigarettes, he lights one, closing his eyes and sinking into his thoughts again as the smoke seems to clear away everything but the hurt. It's as if his brain can't stop- like the only way to turn it off is the complete oblivion he'd found only in the booze and the road… though, now, it's looking like neither of those are good enough anymore. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, he tries once more to rid himself of the lingering effects seeing her so close- so real- had had on him; it's only- what had she said to him once? _The noise doesn't matter?_ His head's been so full of fucking noise these past couple months, he can think of only one other way to get it to stop.

The notebook's almost full, probably owing to the fact that his drunken scrawl is about twice as big as his regular, messy handwriting. Still, he doesn't bother to read what he'd written during those late-night sessions he can't seem to dredge up memories of- doesn't know if he even wants to. Instead, he flips to the first available fresh page, digs a pencil out of his pocket, and waits.

Waits for the familiar urge to strike, for the words to start flowing onto the page- along with all the shit that's had him locked in his head and attempting to drown himself in whiskey. When that doesn't happen, he forces it- does something his Memoirs instructor had cautioned them against doing, warning against writing a journal to an audience instead of _from the heart._

_Without Tara, I'm_

He's…. Fucking _what_ , exactly?

A Brother? A Son?

He's probably been a goddamn shitty excuse for a Brother lately; Piney can't even look at him- which is probably for the best, since Jax doubts he's going to have anything good to say when he finally deigns to speak to him. Kozik and Chibs have settled for sympathetic silence, for the most part, and he'd shut down any attempt to broach anything outside of the necessities. Christ, even Tig's been giving him a wide berth, lately.

God knows he hadn't been much of a brother to Trinity recently, either- a fact that's been niggling since his father had casually mentioned some family dinner Gemma's throwing this week. He'd said Trini would love to see him, they all would… And that's where Jax had cut him off, certain he wasn't in any shape to play big brother, probably wouldn't be any time soon.

As a Son, he likely isn't faring much better; sure, he'd thrown himself into the club when Ope went inside as well as in the weeks after- and he's still doing what he can to make up for his friend's absence. But goddamn, it's hard to lose himself in the club when he's lost in his own fucking head. As it is, he's pretty sure that without the long rides followed up by copious amounts of Jim, Jack or whatever whiskey- Irish, Scotch, bourbon or otherwise- happened to be on hand, he'd have found himself on the club's shit list already… And he's quickly realizing that he can barely bring himself to care.

And as a son? The fact that he's been alternately shutting down his father's attempts to talk about anything beyond the absolutely necessary club shit and dodging his mother altogether, well… he's pretty sure they're ready to stage an a goddamn intervention- Gemma, for sure. He hasn't gone this long without talking to her since before he learned _how_ to talk; not even the days after the truth had come out about her associations with Clay could compare.

Now, he's been attempting to come to grips with everything he feels- for her, without her- for the better part of a month, and staring at this first sober fragment of a sentence for at least fifteen fucking minutes. Mostly because he's still got no goddamn clue what the fuck he _is_ without her.

Jax sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before tossing the notebook onto the grass at his hip. The pencil, he lets dangle from his fingers until it slips away, bouncing off his knee and rolling, slowly; he watches it a moment until it jolts down a notch onto the notebook before disappearing into thick green below. He makes no move to retrieve it.

Jax takes another deep drag, pulls until his lungs burn and his eyes sting- until the ash droops and the cherry flares dangerously close to the filter- then, resisting the urge to stub out the cigarette on the offending page, he flicks the butt away into the lush expanse of grass to join the half a pack that had preceded it. Christ, at this rate, he should probably just raid JT's carton… and while he's at it, find his father's stack of notebooks and get a fresh one- start over.

_Just like she did._

The buzzing of the pager at his hip provides a momentary- frankly, welcome- distraction from the frustrated circles he's been turning in his head, and he tilts it up so he can glimpse the digital readout, smiling despite himself at the familiar number that flashes up at him from the screen. It's the first phone number he'd memorized other than his own, one he'd dialed hundreds of times in his lifetime, and one that's still notated in Gemma's bold script on the list above the phone in the Teller kitchen

_Winston House_

It's time.

* * *

Donna's waiting on the front steps when Jax slows to a halt in front of the familiar house, chewing a nail thoughtfully, her denim-covered legs tucked behind her. The corner of his mouth kicks up as she shoots to her feet the moment he gets off the Dyna, and he can't help teasing her just a little as he heads up the driveway, thankful that at least _something_ feels normal.

"Lookin' pretty eager there, Darlin'." Jax tilts his chin up, pastes a smirk on his lips as he watches the same bloom on his friend's. "You waitin' for me?" Donna's never been susceptible to the Teller charm and they've both always known it; in fact, she's always given him even more shit than Opie, ribbing him when he'd give Gemma the trademark grin that usually got him what he wanted, scoffing good-naturedly when he weaseled his way out of assignments and detentions- and into his girl's good graces. And so, she smirks, rolls her eyes for Jax's benefit and punches him in the shoulder for good measure before wrapping her arms around him in greeting. He, too, squeezes tight, sobering momentarily until Donna's words come, muffled against his chest.

"In your dreams, Teller." Jax's laughter rumbles from his chest and across his lips- and even as the thought enters his mind that it sounds strange, almost foreign to his ears, the reason hits him. He hasn't had cause to laugh since _she'd_ left, despite all the people who've tried to jostle him around, joke with him, and drag him back into the land of the living. He's deciding just how he feels about this revelation when, evidently sensing his introspection, Donna draws back- her eyes scanning his appearance quickly before resting on his own, now alight with faintly-held concern.

"Jesus, Jax," Donna whispers, her mouth twisting into an expression he can only label as sympathetic- even though it's the same one he's watched come and go on the face of practically everyone in his life these past weeks. She reaches up and tucks a knuckle under his chin, tilting it up and studying him a moment before smiling, sadly. "You look like shit."

"Thanks a lot Don," Jax replies sardonically, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Guess I figured since there's no sense in lookin' like jailbait in the fuckin' ja-"

"Jax…" Donna's voice is soft, but chiding, and Jax groans inwardly. Apparently, she's not buying his shit any more than anyone else. "You don't have to… _do_ this- not with me." And suddenly, for the first time since everything had happened, the whole chain reaction that had started with Ope's arrest, Jax realizes he's looking at the one person who understands what it's like to lose your everything. He just can't decide whether the thought's a tremendous relief- or fucking terrifying.

Either way, Jax figures he's got the entire ride down to Stockton to figure it out. Suddenly anxious to hurry this along however he can, he tosses an arm over her shoulder and shoots her another smile- a genuine one this time- and she relents, seems to accept his teasing for the momentary reprieve from this fucked up situation that it is.

"C'mon, _Darlin'_ \- visiting hours start at ten; let's get on the road. "

Near forty minutes later, they're rattling down old 88 in Ope's ancient pickup, nearing halfway to Dogtown, and settling easily into a companionable silence with that new Foo Fighters song pouring from the cracked speakers. It's always been easy, surface-level friendship between he and Donna, Jax reflects- mostly because they'd always had their other halves around to serve as a distraction- but also partially because Donna's just so… _Donna_.

Ever since Opie had nervously introduced them to the shy brunette that first night, Donna had turned out to be a complete breath of fresh air where all three of them were concerned. She'd pretty much ignored the way the whole goddamn town, and especially the women, seemed to treat Jax- like he was already some sort of biker King- and made a joke of it instead. She'd taken the news about the shady business the club was involved in, in stride- at least, as much as Ope had wanted to tell her. He knew she'd served as Tara's sounding board throughout his own worst moments, been there to temper the often overwhelming presence that was his mother… and she'd done it all with a sweet smile that warmed those sparkling gray eyes and made you feel better, calmer, in her presence.

That ease, the friendliness- it's here today, too, helped along by the sun streaming in through the windows, the way Donna kicks off her shoes and rests her feet on the dash, and especially the way she hasn't pressed him for details about Tara… and for a moment, it's easy to forget why they're here and who's not here with them. Easy to convince himself they're maybe headed to meet up with Ope on his way back from Mary's, that Tara's following in the Cutlass, that they'll pull off at that same deserted state park they had their junior year and… Unbidden, the aching hollow in his chest returns, despite the relative good mood that had set upon him earlier.

 _Jesus._ Even the good things haunt him these days… The memories of the sunny afternoon and of the four of them lazing beneath the huge oaks and getting pleasantly, fantastically stoned… of Donna shrieking as Ope tossed her into the ice cold lake… of his love resting her head in his lap in the back of the Cutlass after she'd agreed to let Opie drive them home. The way her eyes had slowly fluttered open after she'd dozed off briefly, then alighted on his own, so filled with contentment, love, and just pure fucking _happiness_. It's the exact moment he'd realized what he'd be willing to do to keep that look there forever.

He may not have been an actual criminal yet, but in that moment it had become suddenly, startlingly clear that his innate capacity for rage- for mayhem and destruction- could just as easily find an outlet in anyone that fucked with Tara as it could in some hypothetical enemy of SAMCRO. It had all been so simple at the time; the men in his life had killed, most of them- some to stay out of prison, others as retaliation for something equally as fucked-up and brutal, still others in self defense. His own father, he knew, in a way had killed for all of these before he'd eventually begun leading his brothers down a path that would hopefully take mayhem off the table for those that came after them. But in that moment, Jax had looked into those soft green eyes, shining in that way they did when she was too high, too exhausted, or too overcome with ecstasy or desire to bring to words what she felt for him, and had been flooded with certainty that he'd be willing to kill for love… for _her_. If it came down to it, he could take out anyone that would try to separate them- or worse, hurt her. And now, Jax has to close his eyes for a moment against the sharp blade that is the realization that the one to do both those things, in the end, had been himself.

When he opens them an instant later, it's to hone in on the road ahead and blindly reach towards the seat next to him to fish a cigarette out of the pack he'd tossed there when they left the Winston house. It nudges away from his grasp, too light- empty, save for the Zippo he keeps in there when the pack is running low. _Shit._ He'd been burning through smokes at an alarming rate ever since she'd left, outpacing even his mother, who'd been a pack a day smoker long before he'd picked up his first Marlboro. This, he knows because the only two places on the whole goddamn lot you can't smoke are the T-W office- some rule about not exposing paying customers to a cloud of smoke that he's about a thousand percent sure hadn't been Gemma's idea- and in the bays themselves.

As a result, Gemma usually smokes leaned up against the office door- probably in defiance of whoever had made the rule years ago. Anyone in a T-W workshirt, however, is relegated to the picnic table someone had dragged over to the dead space along the south side of the clubhouse, and he'd spent more of his recent smoke breaks than he can count in some sort of silent confrontation with his mother- loser looks away first. Only, he'd been avoiding her gaze- hell, her comfort, her anger, her everything _else_ \- and is more than happy to give his mother the win if it means she'll leave him the hell alone.

There's a nudge against Jax's hand, still resting on the middle portion of the bench seat; Donna, proffering her own near-empty pack of cigarettes- Opie's brand. She's eyeing him cautiously- _Christ,_ he's got to get out of his head. Today can't be easy for her even though they both seem to have found a rare bit of comfort in their easy friendship. He cranks the window down a crack and lights up, stealing a glance at the passenger side of Ope's truck.

The glove box is hanging open, its contents threatening to spill onto the floorboards below, and Donna's still shooting him that _look_ , almost like she had in the driveway nearly an hour ago now- the one that has him wondering how much he's letting on that he's dangerously close to losing his shit even in the best of times. Regardless, it's clear she's got something on her mind and Jax asks the powers that be for forgiveness in advance, because he's about to launch a preemptive strike and press one of those issues… the one that doesn't lead them down the road towards his own fucking problems.

"So, uh… Piney said you heard from Ope Sunday…" Jax cringes inwardly at the lame-ass question, so obviously an attempt at avoidance since he already knows the answer. Donna rolls her eyes and returns her gaze to the highway.

"No shit, Sherlock- it's why we're headed to Stockton." Her mouth twists into a smirk a moment later and by the time she's snickering at him, Jax is rolling his eyes himself and tossing an empty styrofoam cup her way. She dodges it and flips him the middle finger, an actual, real smile gracing her lips.

"I know that… _ass_ ," Jax snarks, "But…" he pauses, hating the way the air in the cab changes as they both sober, the smile sliding from her face, momentary reprieve gone all too quickly. "How- how'd he sound? He doin' okay?" And it's a fair question, even though they are- theoretically, at least- about to see for themselves. The reality is, though, that Ope had kept most of his inner turmoil at losing his sponsor, what he perceived as failing one of the First Nine, and especially the whole scheme cooked up by Otto and Luann, close to the vest- at least as far as Jax is concerned. That stoic motherfucker sure as hell isn't going to reveal much during the hour Jax has to visit with him in a goddamn room full of guards and felons that he already hadn't in the months preceding his arrest. Distractedly, Donna shrugs, picking at the hem of her jeans and shifting her feet closer to the window.

"I don't know, Jax…" she murmurs, finally. "I mean- he sounded just like- like, _Opie_ , you know?

Like he always did when you guys were on a run and he'd call to say goodnight and I love you. It was so easy to fool myself that that's what was happening- that he was up in some SAMCRO clubhouse in Tacoma or Arizona… Except-" Donna pauses, briefly, clears her throat, and Jax knows all too well from experience how fucking hard it is to talk when you feel like you've got a goddamn bowling ball lodged in your throat. "Except when he had to get off the phone, I just couldn't fool myself anymore, you know? Instead of you or Koz coming to tell him it's time to go, or Tig giving him shit about being in the back and on the phone instead of out at the party…" Donna's voice hardens, "It's a fucking recorded voice, telling us we've got one minute left."

Jax nods, shooting Donna a sympathetic look; like it or not, he's got some experience with having a loved one in prison, and he knows firsthand just how shitty it is to have anyone telling you just how long you could talk, how closely you could stand, how much you could touch.

"Most of the times my dad was inside, I was just a kid," Jax muses, "so all I remember is the guards standin' there during our contact visits, just waitin' for him to put one finger outta line. His second or third bid that I remember, he missed Tommy's birth. Christ, he didn't even get a contact visit until a month before he got out- I think shit kept goin' down behind the scenes-" Glancing at Donna, he breaks off, noting the horrified look creeping up on his friend's face and cursing his big fucking mouth, knowing the thoughts flooding her mind as well as he knows his own. "Shit, Don- I didn't mean it like that. That ain't gonna happen to Ope."

"You can't be sure though, Jax." Donna's clutching her arms close to herself and actually fucking shivering in the 85 degree heat. _Christ, why did you say that shit?_ "He already got himself arrested- who knows what's gonna happen now that he's in there with God knows who. The Mayans-"

"-haven't beefed with us since Clay died and we got out of gu- uh, some of the riskier shit we were in." Jax finishes, firmly, awkwardly avoiding some shit he frankly has no idea if Ope had ever told Donna. "The club's different now than it was when JT went inside- shit, _Ope's_ different. My dad… he was the club President, a convicted felon already. Ope doesn't have that cloud hangin' over his head, you know?"

"The club is…the _club,_ Jax. _That's_ what's hanging over Opie's head." Donna turns to him, eyes suddenly liquid, and the effect is astounding- just another anvil to add to the weight already pressing down on his shoulders. "What if the club needs him to do something on the inside? Or… or what if someone else wants to use that to their advantage?" And all Jax can do is reach across the bench seat of Opie's truck, find Donna's hand, and squeeze it while he makes yet another promise he isn't sure he can keep.

"Piney and JT… they won't let that happen. _We_ won't let that happen, sweetheart. _I promise_."

She doesn't call him on it, though he probably deserves it- and doubly so if she's aware of the promises he'd made her best friend, then failed to keep- just squeezes his hand in return before releasing it to watch as the orchards give way to the familiar industrial buildings that signify the outskirts of Stockton.

* * *

The reception area's packed, something that makes it even more vaguely resemble the last time Jax had been in here. Then, as now, the bleak, chair-lined room is nearly half kids, and the remaining third their frazzled mothers- all here to take advantage of Sunday visitation before school and work begins all over again. As he scans the room, doing his best to settle the sudden onslaught of nerves currently percolating in his gut, one family in particular catches his eye.

In a cramped corner, a petite woman with raven hair and a beautifully angled face gently shifts a tiny baby barely bigger than his hand from one arm to the other, lovingly grazing a plump cheek with her finger. She looks tired- fucking _exhausted_ , really- but she has a soft smile for the chubby little towheaded boy at her knee, who is practically vibrating with excitement. Watching them, Jax can't help but make his comparisons, welcoming the brief, irrational, hint of nostalgia that comes along with them.

Like he'd told Donna, Gemma had brought first Jax, then both boys to visit JT during his semi-frequent sentences here years ago. At one point, she'd had to contend with hauling both a sickly infant and a school-aged boy- oft described, albeit affectionately, as a little shithead- all the way down here to wait in this very room. Gemma, too, had been forced to experience childbirth alone, just as this woman probably had. A fuzzy memory surfaces- of his father gingerly holding his wriggling baby son, leaning across the table to kiss his mother, and the sharp reprimands of the guards. Had it been the first time his father had met Tommy? Maybe, especially since JT hadn't been granted visitation right away, and Tommy had remained in the hospital for weeks after his birth, thanks to the heart condition that plagued him his entire life.

Was this mother taking her sons to meet their absentee felon of a father for the first time? Would he apologize for missing one of the most important days in these three lives so far? And whenever he's finally released- be it weeks, months, or years in the future- would he ever really feel like this baby's father? Would the son ever truly feel like this man is his?

 _Of course he will,_ Jax's rational brain replies. After all, even though Tommy had been young when he died, there's no questioning how much he'd loved JT despite the fact that his first year's worth of interactions with him had been spent two hours at a time in a place just like this one. JT was also devoted to his sons. For the most part, Jax has a slew of good memories- some from the clubhouse, from family dinners, from weekends spent at the cabin… all up until the trips to and from Belfast had become more and more frequent. Then, Tommy had died and shit had taken a severe turn south.

He pushes thoughts of Belfast, Maureen, Clay, and the others from his mind, with the fleeting thought that a lack of proximity didn't disqualify anyone from being a father, any more than geographical closeness made them a good one. It's the other decisions made, the external forces allowed in, that really matter.

This dark-haired woman could just as easily be Donna, who had had a pregnancy scare of her own. Or- and the hollow part of his chest expands a little more as he notes the green eyes, the soft smile, the almost uncanny resemblance that had likely been the reason he'd noticed her to begin with- she could be _his_ girl. After all, the fear of his own imprisonment had been one thing that had cut through her sorrow for Opie, for Donna, and for herself. The irrational glimpse that bombards him next- Tara, waiting with the baby he'd briefly been sure they'd made together, to see a husband and a father that had left them alone in favor of his loyalty to someone else... it's just another rallying cry for one of the two factions that had been at war within him since Ope had gotten locked up. Above all else, Tara had been terrified at what would have happened to him- to _them_ \- if he'd been with Opie that night. And he'd dismissed her worries, countered them with promises and reassurances that the club had changed- just like he had Donna an hour ago.

 _And it did change_ , the other half of his mind counters fiercely as Jax turns away from the mother and children finally- as if to shield them from the raging argument developing within his own head. The club's no longer in guns, no longer associated with the goddamn IRA, and with the removal of Cameron Hayes- that last tie, the one that had killed Trinity's mother and stepfather and threatened the same fate to other women and children associated with the Sons of Anarchy- the truly dangerous business had ended. Sure, the club's still involved in plenty of shit that's on the wrong side of the law, there's still the risk that the alliances they'd built could crumble… but the club's as safe as it has been in Jax's lifetime.

 _She knew the commitment you made- to your club and your best friend- way back when you started making plans for the future. It's a risk she was willing to tak_ e, the second voice continues, the angry one that keeps him sane around his Brothers, drives him through his longest days.

 _And still, you broke your promises, and pushed her away while you did it_ , argues the first- the desolate, heartbroken part of him that accepts his part in this… before trying to drown itself in whiskey.

 _She's better off without you, away from all of this_. And it's this new, third voice- neither asserting that the other two are wrong, nor agreeing- that seems to control his body from within, turning him back towards the dark-haired mother and her children, now huddled together on the same chair as she gently murmurs them a soft lullaby that somehow cuts through the din of the crowded room. For this woman- just as for his own girl, for Donna, maybe even for Gemma- it doesn't much matter whose decisions and which circumstances had brought her here any more than the reason, the fault, or the blame behind it all. All that matters is that she's _here_ , and she and her children would likely be different, _better_ , practically anywhere else.

Jax is so lost in thought- caught up in the new truth slowly creeping in and the way it's already beginning to drown out the others- that he isn't sure how many times the brusque voice had called-

"Visitors for Winston, Harry" before he felt the cool pressure of Donna's hand within his own. In fact, she's squeezing the hell out of it, her grip bordering on painful as the uniformed officer steps further into the room.

"Winston, Harry?" And suddenly, Donna's rounding on him, her eyes frantic, sleek brown hair falling into her face, and an ever-deepening red further tinting her cheeks.

"Jax… I- I _can't_. I just need- I need a minute, before I see him like that… I-" As she scans his face, searching for understanding, for a solution, Jax shakes his head.

"Donna, it's Ope, you've _got_ to, for _him_." Spotting the flurry of movement the officer- a heavyset balding man who looks supremely unaffected by Donna's last-minute panic- approaches, coming to a full stop before them.

"Last call, kids. You seein' Winston today or not?"

"Uh… can we visit at different times? Like, go in separately? Or-" The officer rolls his eyes.

"Doesn't matter. You get an hour, according to Winston's file, more when he's become acclimated, earned the additional time. Up to three adults in the visitation room at once, less if there's kids. Once his time starts, counting from when my colleagues bring him into the visiting room, you can visit in shifts, together, or not at all." He shrugs, scratching his chin as the situation becomes apparent. "If you're stayin' out here for the time being, just go up and let Gina over there know-" he points to a similarly unenthusiastic looking woman behind a desk- "and you can switch out. Or not, it's up to you. But one of you's gotta come now." Sniffing, the guard turns and jerks his head at the door, expectantly.

"You go in, Jax," Donna whispers, looking slightly more calm than she had moments ago and ignoring the protests bubbling up in Jax's throat, shaking her head. "No- it's _better_ that way- you two can talk, and when I've got my shit together, I'll come in."

"Donna, I _know_ Ope- all he wants is to see you." She smiles a bit, takes a deep, shuddering breath before answering.

"He wants to see you too, Jax- you're his best friend. But I can't go in there like this, it isn't fair to Ope." And, as Jax takes in her tear-filled eyes, her shaking hands, and the white line around the lips she's worried into a tight knot, he knows she's got a point.

"A'ight, fine," he relents, quickly rising in an attempt to appease the officer shuffling papers at the door once again. "But you gotta make it quick, Don- we only got an hour." Again, she smiles, wiping under her eyes with a tissue before nodding and squeezing his hand one final time.

"Go, Jax, I'll be in soon."

* * *

When the moment comes and the door buzzes, signifying the entrance of a prisoner, Jax finds he isn't ready for it- at least not any more than Donna had been a minute ago. He'd watched two similar comings and goings while waiting, but still, he's somehow altogether unprepared for the sight of his best friend since childhood dressed in an orange jumpsuit just like his father had been years ago. He doesn't tear up, like Donna had, but as he watches the guards remove his friend's shackles and cuffs just inside the door, what Jax wants to do more than anything is grab the guard's gun and his Brother and shoot his way out- come what may.

Tamping down that irrational fantasy- as well as the guilt that's currently choking him- Jax takes Opie in. He looks… _different_ , older somehow, and leaner- as if the shit he's seen in here has been chipping away at him piece by piece, revealing parts of someone new he's about to become. And goddamn, his best friend's always been difficult to read, but now that the customary beanie plus a month's worth of beard growth hides his brow, the easy set of his jaw, and the quick smile Jax is so accustomed to, when Ope's gaze finally lands on him, sitting alone at the table, his face is nearly inscrutable. Jax has a brief moment to wonder if prison time is what had contributed to Piney's unreadable expressions and gruff exterior, and then Ope's striding across the room towards him and all thoughts leave his mind except how good it still is to see him after two fucking months.

Ope fairly crushes him in a bear hug as he always does- and if Jax tried, it would likely be all too easy to imagine they were on the lot, meeting up after a pair of long runs spent apart. Only the rumble of other prisoners and their visitors, the aroma of sweat, bleach, and stale smoke, and the sharp bite of the guard's voice breaks the illusion, washing them both in a stream of bleak reality.

"Move it along, Winston." Ope doesn't acknowledge the guard, just draws back and runs a hand over his face and down his substantial beard, once again looking as road-weary as Jax had ever seen him- despite the fact that the only road he's seen lately has been from the back of a prison transport van. As he settles into his seat on one side of the table, Jax does so on the opposite, his ass barely touching the seat before he's blurting out the answer to a question Ope hasn't even asked yet.

"Donna's comin' in later- we figured you'd want some time alone, y'know, at the uh… end." Jax shifts uncomfortably; for his part, Ope angles his chin upward, eyes narrowing.

"Alone, huh? Like we're actually gonna be _alone_... " Jax twists the slip of paper that had signified his arrival time between four fingers, unsure what to do with his hands- his goddamn _mouth_ \- around his best friend for possibly the first time ever. _Christ._

"Shit, man, I'm..." he falters, noticing the smirk curving Ope's lips a moment too late.

"Shut the fuck up, Jax," Ope chuckles affectionately, and Jax can't help but grin- and holy shit does it feel good to be sharing a laugh with his friend after a couple months apart. Ope settles back into his seat, his large frame setting the table creaking as he shrugs. "You lose your shit in here, start gettin' sensitive, you're in for a long ride, brother." His mirth draining away, Jax shakes his head- maybe against the thoughts and the guilt creeping in, maybe against his own goddamn selfishness, especially after what Opie's just said- but he's _got_ to say it.

"Listen, Ope-"

"Y'know," Opie muses, as if Jax hadn't spoken, a trace of the smirk still crinkling the corners of his eyes, "people have been tellin' me to _listen_ ever since I first wound up in this fuckin' mess. The DA, Rosen, fuckin' _Pop_ … and it _always_ ends up bein' some shit I don't wanna hear. So if you're about to tell me how I should've taken this to the table, or considered some bullshit deal… well, I only got an hour so make it quick." Despite himself, Jax snorts, and Ope raises an eyebrow, nonplussed.

"No, dick- I'm not tryin' to play Daddy here, and I'm _sure_ as hell not a lawyer. But what I _am_ is your best friend, so while I ain't about to tell you what you _should've_ done, I _do_ want to know why. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you let me-"

"Jesus, Jax," Ope sighs, cutting off a line of questioning Jax hadn't really determined how he'd end. "Let you _what_? Talk me out of it? Help me, so _you_ could get busted and wind up in here?" Jax looks away, briefly, as Opie snorts, this time. "First of all, you coulda talked until you were blue in the face and I wouldn't've listened; I was so caught up in what I thought were my responsibilities I don't think I could see _any_ thing else, not even you." Ope pauses a moment, sobers, and Jax returns his gaze to his best friend, who's stroking his beard, focusing on some distant point past Jax's shoulder. "Piney told me the shit he said to you- about how you shoulda been there to back me up-"

"And he was right, Ope." _Jesus, why can't anyone else see that?_ Opie just shakes his head, smiling sadly.

"And then we'd _both_ be in here, 'cause I don't know if anyone's told you, but you ain't the King yet. That shit woulda gone south no matter what- I know that now. And I also know there ain't no way you coulda stopped it. Pop was wrong; you gotta trust me brother- it's better this way."

 _"Better?"_ Jax scoffs, tightening his jaw in an attempt to prevent himself from saying the wrong shit yet again, making this worse.

"Yeah, _better_. The club's _better_ with one of us on the outside- not to mention Donna, Tara, your folks… Christ, even Piney's stubborn ass. You get stuck in here with me, what happens to them?" Ope shakes his head. "I already got enough guilt about this shit, about leavin' Donna behind. Best place you could be is right where you are, bro." Opie leans back further, folds long arms across his chest, his very air nearly daring Jax to argue with him. _And most days, I well fucking would._

But Ope's right- they don't have much time, so as much as Jax wants to keep pushing, draw out the who, the where, and most importantly the _why_ of the whole goddamn mess… he doesn't. Instead, he shoots Opie what he hopes is a cocky smirk of his own.

"Right. And I guess where I _am..._ is bringin' your girl up to visit your ugly ass." Ope chuckles, the corner of his mouth hitching up his beard.

"Who you callin' ugly? You're the one looks like someone dragged you behind Pop's truck all the way from Charming." His laughter fades away, and he takes a moment to eye Jax guiltily before adding, "Seriously, bro, you look like shit- JT and my old man ridin' you that hard now that they're short a guy?"

It's the second time in so many hours someone's mentioned it- the visual effect caused by his recent fucked up combination of booze, practically killing himself pulling double duty at the garage and with the club, and a severe lack of sleep. Not to mention the constant cycle of bullshit his brain and his goddamn heart have been going though. No more anxious to have this conversation with Ope than he had been with Donna, Jax manages to crack a weak smile and deflect, just like he's been doing with practically everyone else in his life.

"Somethin' like that…" It's all he can really say and although the crease between Opie's brows deepens just a bit, he moves on.

"Thanks for bringin' her up here, anyway, man; I-" Opie averts his eyes, reddening slightly, "I didn't want her to have to… you know- deal with this alone. Not the first time." Jax waves a hand.

"You don't have to thank me, you know that." Ope just nods, and Jax waits, then, for him to say something else, to press him for the details he knows he'd want if their positions were reversed and it was him in the orange jumpsuit, locked away from his girl. But Opie's silent, focused on his hands, so Jax presses on, filling the silence. "She took it rough, man- we all did. Those first few days when we didn't know shit…" Ope closes his eyes, the familiar trappings of pain and guilt all too evident to Jax, who's been living them himself for weeks. "She's a strong chick, though, and Gemma and the girls are there for her."

"She doesn't deserve this shit, Jax," Opie says, roughly, pressing his palms to his eyes before straightening once more and finally turning his gaze back to Jax. "Her parents warned her- told her what would happen if she stayed with me. She shoulda listened."

"She loves you, Ope." He lets that statement, simple though it is, hang in the air a moment, watches as Opie nods and acknowledges what he's said before continuing. "Donna's hangin' in, and she needs to know that you'll do the same." At this, Opie chuckles, brokenly, and if Jax didn't know any better, hadn't been carefully watching his friend's reaction, he'd swear it sounded more like a sob.

"What the fuck _else_ am I supposed to do?"

It's a true enough statement- and one Jax doesn't have a fitting response to. So, he doesn't bother, just continues where they'd left off minutes earlier.

"She's been doin' okay, man, really- been goin' to work, helpin' over at the garage, comin' to my mom's family dinners, all of that. We're movin' the rest of her shit this weekend, and then Koz and I are gonna make sure she knows we've got her back even though she ain't over at the clubhouse anymore. She needs anything, we're there, brother, " Jax finishes, hoping to hell he sounds reassuring. Ope nods, running a palm down his face.

"When I called the office about the visitation, I was sure I'd get Gemma- maybe even Pop. When it was Donna, I damn near cried-" he chuckles, bitterly "-'cause it turns out, when the DA's holdin' a case over your club's head, they're not in a big hurry to give you privileges… so I hadn't talked to her in weeks- since I called from County. After that, all my contact was with Pop and the goddamn lawyer. Shit, man- just hearin' her voice…" Ope trails off, unable to put what he'd felt into words, but Jax knows exactly what he isn't saying- and his chest aches once again at the thought of just how many days it's been since he's heard Tara's clear, sweet voice. Jesus, what he'd give just to talk to her…

"-said somethin' about an apartment, but that's when the goddamn recording came on." Ope was saying, as Jax jolts back to his bleak reality. "They gave me five minutes, and it took me about four of those to get my shit together and tell her I loved her." He chuckles to himself briefly before angling his chin up at Jax in question. "She get in at that place over by CCC?"

It's in that moment Jax feels his stomach drop; clearly Donna hadn't had time to fill Ope in on the finer details of her move, but it's really territory he wasn't looking forward to covering. Inwardly, he curses himself for not getting a read on the situation on the way up here.

"Nah, man," Jax responds, trying for casual. "She's takin' over the garage apartment over at the clinic." _There._ He hadn't said her name aloud- something he still doesn't think he can do without his fucking voice cracking. He hadn't even mentioned it being Tara's old place, in the hopes that Ope would be able to read his avoidance as well as he tends to read everything else about him, and leave well enough alone.

" _Tara's_ place?" _No dice._ In fact, Opie looks confused, even suspicious as he presses for more information. "Shit, bro, you were practically livin' there. Much as I appreciate y'all lookin' out for Donna like that, you didn't need to move out or nothin'."

Now it's Jax's turn to look confused. Does Ope really think he'd continue living over at the apartment without _her_ there, alone with his memories? Brows knit, Opie leans closer, studying him. "I mean… are things OK with you and Tara? Or…"

As Opie's expression changes, putting some of the missing pieces together, a flood of realizations swamp Jax at once. Piney and Donna must not have told Opie about Tara taking off. Christ, he hadn't ever really been aware of their eventual plan to leave, together, while she finished school- at least not the extent of it. And now, after successfully avoiding the subject for weeks, Jax is left without an escape, without a distraction. There's no half bottle of booze to drown out the pain, no open stretch of road or apartment door to block out the questions- it's just him and one of the few people who have ever challenged him about her, known the two of them well enough to expect Jax's brand of bullshit and call him on it, because he's cared for her almost as long as he's been Jax's brother.

"The fuck is going on, Jax? _What did you do?_ "

Jax shifts uncomfortably in the hard chair, attempting, at least, to interpret Opie's expression as he shakes his head. Finding no hard and fast answers, he responds, reluctantly, as simply as he can.

"Shi-" he clears his throat, hoping to diminish the choking feeling he always gets when he talks about her- the majority of the reason he's outright fucking refused until now. He waits a moment for it to subside, Ope's gaze never leaving him. "Shit was rough after you went inside, like I said, and we all dealt with it in our own way. I had the club. Donna- she had Gemma and the girls, and T- _Tara_ …" Opie's head snaps up at the way his voice cracks, and Jesus _Christ_ , he's realizing all over again why he'd made this sort of half-conscious effort to avoid talking about her since his one and only blowout with his mother. "She had a hard time man. You know how she felt about some of the club shit- not to mention my _mother_ …" he snorts, remembering.

Ope narrows his eyes, suspicion clouding his features as he shakes his head slightly, and Jax's heart sinks further.

" _Tell_ me you didn't go off all half-cocked like you always do-"

"No, Ope!" Jax counters, running his fingers through his hair, frenetically. "It was like everything was fallin' apart at once, though- all of a sudden, I had more of a responsibility to the club than ever, but at the same time, it was like every single day she got further and further away from me. We-"

"So, what- she just left? Moved back in with her dad or some shit?" If Opie's expression hadn't been what it was- a mixture of confusion, hurt, anger, and _Jesus_ , who knows what else- Jax thinks he might have laughed out loud at the thought of his girl actually being willing to go crawling back to her father's house. But then, Ope doesn't know… fuckin' _anything_ , about what had triggered all of this. Sighing, Jax shakes his head once again, willing Opie to shut up so he can get through this.

"Back when we first wanted to start prospecting- when I took early graduation and JT and Piney wouldn't let you drop outta high school?" Opie nods, carefully, clearly unsure where this is going. "Her and I… we were strugglin', too, with what we both wanted- from life, from each other. About the same time you and I made a plan, to put off prospecting until we could do it together, to patch SAMCRO together, I made a promise to Tara, too. Told her if she needed to leave Charming, go somewhere else to finish her education that I'd support her… but she did me one better. She said she'd stay, through prospecting, through our first year in the club, and take classes over at CCC."

"I know all this shit Jax-"

"No. You _don't._ The day before you got locked up, we were in her apartment and I found letters, Ope. _Scholarship_ letters, from all over the goddamn state and good for this upcoming semester. I lost it, man. I thought she was leavin' me- breakin' her promises, givin' up on us… and then she reminded me that _I'd_ made promises too. See, back when we decided she'd stay here for a couple years, I gave her my word that when it was time for her to leave that I'd stick it out with her. We didn't know what that looked like, yet, but I promised we'd figure it out."

"I told Donna the same thing, brother. If she'd have gone up to Sacramento or over to Lodi or whatever, we'd have made it work on the weekends and holidays, and-" Jax is already shaking his head.

"She's gonna be a _doctor_ , Ope- that's like five more years of school, and there ain't a medical school anywhere in the SanJua valley. If she left, there wouldn't be no goddamn evenings and weekends and we both knew it- not between the club, her classwork, and a six or eight hour drive between us. So I told her…" Jax swallows, with nearly as much difficulty as he had the first time he'd said her name in weeks, "...I told her I'd transfer if I had to, that I'd do anything to keep us together, no matter what."

Jax isn't sure what, exactly, he'd thought Opie's reaction would be upon hearing Jax's plans to leave Redwood Original behind- leave _him_ behind- for a matter of years, but it hadn't been the rueful smile that's spreading on Ope's face right now.

"Shit, Jax… I _knew_ you two were in deep. You and I both know I'd have had to kick your ass years ago if I didn't have an idea about how strong it is between you- but I didn't think anything would _ever_ make you leave SAMCRO." Opie sighs then, reaching up to pull the knit beanie off his head, tossing it on the table so he can push both hands through his mop of hair. "I s'pose I should be pissed at you for not tellin' me, but I _get_ it, man. I mean- I acted like a little bitch when you thought about prospecting without me." Ope laughs, sadly, "And then I wasn't a hundred percent honest with you either- Christ, look where we are _now_."

And Jax _looks_ , though reluctantly, takes in the prisoners shuffling to and from the metal tables and the families waiting, faithfully- notes how everyone, no matter which side of the table they're on, is wearing a variation of the same melancholy expression.

"So what the hell happened?" Opie asks, breaking into Jax's thoughts and steering the conversation back on track. Jax shrugs, brokenly.

"That's the night we got the call that you were in county, and all of a sudden, it's like all my choices, my promises, my responsibilities… my fuckin' _legacy_ , came callin' all at once. I'd given my word to my club that I'd have their backs when shit went south, and I knew I owed it to them to keep it when it meant the most- _especially_ after everything that went down with Otto and with Happy doin' half-time. And I did exactly that- kept my head down, kept myself busy… fuckin' buried myself in club business 'cause if I stopped, I'd have to think about how you weren't gonna be here with me. Tara… she went to work, put her all into helping Donna those first few days, did what Ma asked her to over at the club- but she was even more lost than I was, and I couldn't see it. Christ, maybe it's more like I _wouldn't_ see it, didn't want to know she was drowning."

"Jesus Christ, Jax- what the _fuck_ did you do?" Opie repeats, growing angry once again- almost twitching in his seat, his palms flexing against the metal table as if in anticipation of what Jax is about to say. Jax just shakes his head, his eyes falling closed in a halfhearted, last-ditch attempt to drown all this out.

"Nothin', Ope. I did _nothing_." When his friend says nothing further, just waits, Jax buries his head in his hands, his voice muffled, but steady. "When I told her you'd been sentenced, that you wouldn't be coming back to us for five years or more, she reminded me what I'd promised her; told me, in her way, that she might not be there waiting when I finally unfucked the shitstorm I'd dedicated my life to. And _still_ , I left- went on some goddamn run that was supposed to take a couple days. Only, it turned into a week- some stupid shit went down between Tacoma and Rogue River and the whole goddamn club got held up. And when I got back, she was gone."

"Holy _shit_... " Ope breathes, sounding nearer than he had before- but Jax keeps his head in his hands, unwilling to let Opie- or anyone else in the room for that matter- see the tears gathering and threatening to spill over. He'll be goddamned if he's going to fucking _cry_ in Stockton State Prison. "So what'd she say when you caught up with her?" The silence that stretches between them now is just as much a result of Jax's surprise that Ope assumes he went after her as it is the fact that once again, he's got nothing to say that'll make Opie happy. "Jax?" Ope's voice is suspicious, _foreboding_ even. "Jax, _tell_ me you went after her."

"I _couldn't_ , man, even if I'd been here when she left- she didn't say where she went, didn't leave word with Donna, Trini, Gemma- _nobody_. But even if I could've gone after her- brought her back with me… I ain't what she needs- not anymo-"

The slam of Ope's open palm against the table serves to send Jax bolting halfway upright, and in his half-startled, half-agonized state, Jax finds he no longer gives a fuck about the moisture rimming his eyes- not now that his best friend is staring at him with something he can only describe as incredulous rage. Not now that the nearest guard is starting towards the table, his hand easing toward the belt where his taser rests, ready to strike.

"Cut the _shit_ , Winston!" the guard snaps, his voice low in warning. Ope doesn't spare a glance at him, choosing instead to keep his glare trained on Jax- though he raises both palms, slightly, in a gesture of surrender. Appeased, the guard settles back into his post, a watchful eye fixed on the two patched SAMCRO members as if to remind them who, exactly, is in charge now that they're in here- _especially_ since neither is wearing a kutte.

"You're tellin' me," Ope continues, his voice unnervingly soft, as if the whole interruption had never happened, as if it's just the two of them, "that you told Tara you loved her, _promised_ her you'd go along with her to follow her dream if she stuck it out while you did the same- and then you bailed."

"Christ, Ope- we didn't even discuss it when it came right down to it. She never asked me to come with her, or set up some sort of schedule so we could make things work- none of it. But it's like I said- every goddamn person I ever gave my word to just showed up at the same time, askin' to cash in a marker. And no matter _what_ I did, someone was gonna come up short- whether it was you and Donna, the club, or her. I had to make a choice." At mention of Donna, Ope flinches, closes his eyes briefly in what Jax recognizes fully as a wave of guilt- since he's been hit with them over and over in the past few weeks like he's standing on the beach in a goddamn hurricane. When Opie opens his eyes, though, they're tinted with something Jax doesn't quite recognize.

"Brother… I've only been locked up a couple months, but I got at least five years to go- time I gotta spend away from my girl, half-sick with the thought of losin' her, and half knowin' it'd be the decent thing to do to set her free. But at the end of the day- whether she stays in Charming or whether she goes, I already lost her for five goddamn years, and I didn't get the chance to make that choice. But you… You _had_ the chance- and you made the wrong choice."

Regret, Jax thinks, wildly, although he's desperate for something, _anything_ , to say to make Ope understand. Regret and utter goddamn defeat is what Ope is swimming in right now, and whether its regret for helping Otto and Luann, for asking Jax to watch out for Donna, or for showing up here in the first place, Jax isn't sure- though it's probably the whole goddamn lot of it. But _choice_ … she hadn't _given_ him a choice; she hadn't told him she was leaving, hadn't told him shit. If she had, well-

"So you're just not gonna say anything?" Opie snarls, breaking into Jax's thoughts. "Makes sense- when the shit hits the fan, when push comes to blood, Jax Teller shuts the fuck down."

"Jesus, I fucked up- you don't think I _know_ that? But I gotta say, that's pretty fuckin' rich, comin' from a guy who's locked up because of his own stubborn ass." Jax's rage finally boils over, spilling out over the both of them and drawing the eye of the guard once again.

"Yeah, there's the Jax I know," Ope goads, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let the temper take over, Brother- _that'll_ bring her back."

'I goddamn _know_ I never should've let us get to that place, and I _know_ that's my fault. Everything that's happened between us over the past year is on me, and I feel like shit- _lower_ than shit- about it. I can't _eat_ , I can't fucking _sleep,_ and… _Christ,_ Ope, I don't know who I _am_ without her. I don't-" Jax's voice cracks one final time before he just gives up completely, hanging his head once again in an effort to rid himself of the tears that come calling as he reaches the point of utter defeat. Then, Opie's voice comes again- kinder, softer, but no less reproachful.

"It doesn't have to be like this, Jax. It ain't an all or nothing-'

'It is, Ope- it's _gotta_ be. This club is our legacy and sh- she deserves to go and make somethin' of herself, just like she's always dreamed. And it's better for us both if I let her." At this, Opie laughs, humorlessly, shaking his head in frustration.

"You don't really believe that- I _know_ you don't. All… all _this_ -" Ope gestures at Jax as if to indicate all of him, this fucking mess he's created for himself- "this is _you_ , manufacturin' a heap of shit that don't need to be. She _needs_ you, just as much as _you_ need _her_ \- you gotta-"

"No, Ope. I _don't_." Jax sighs, shrugging in defeat. "It's simple." Shaking his head, Opie's mouth twists into a sardonic smirk.

"Guess so, Brother. And I guess I can always count on you for a lot of things- to have my back when it really matters, to try to take all my shit on yourself, even when you don't have to. But… " he pauses, lets the rest of what he'd been about to say hang, until Jax can't stand it anymore.

" _What,_ Ope?" Jax can't help but ask, though hes about a thousand percent sure he isn't going to like the answer.

"You're a _fuckin'_ coward… and that's some shit I never counted on."

Jax opens his mouth, but even if he'd had half a goddamn idea what to say back to the kick in the gut his friend had just delivered, he's fairly sure it wouldn't have come out anyway. Ope meets his gaze- unflinching, unwavering in his convictions- letting Jax marinate in the knowledge of what his best friend truly thinks of him… until his eyes shift- actually fucking light up- and his whole demeanor changes.

Gone is the Opie that had sat before him with his shoulders slumped in defeat. The man that practically leaps out of his seat- a genuine smile curving his lips instead of that wry shitty excuse for a grin he'd worn earlier- is someone entirely different than the man that had sat here before him seconds ago. And then Donna's flying into his arms and Opie's leaning down to squeeze her tight- and Jax looks away, unsure whether it's because he feels like he's intruding on what's somehow a private moment in the middle of a room full of people… or because for the first time, he's suddenly, irrationally, jealous of a man facing a five year prison sentence.

Because even with the growing mountain of bullshit Ope's currently dealing with- up to and including the vast disappointment that had turned out to be his best friend- Jax had just watched it all drain away in an instant, the moment he'd laid eyes on Donna. Here, in the world's shittiest excuse for a place to connect with someone else, and even when plagued with his thoughts of how she'd be better off without him, Ope had found peace with his love. And that, Jax realizes as he pushes off his chair- just as the guard sends a low warning to Opie and Donna, and Opie pulls back, reluctantly, still gazing at the girl who's his entire world- is something he doesn't know if he'll ever find again, no matter what his best friend says.

Jax doesn't say goodbye as he sets a bead on the exit, suddenly desperate to get out to the parking lot and smoke a cigarette or five while he waits for Donna, but somehow he can feel Opie's eyes on his back, sending barbs of disappointment into him the whole way.

* * *

"Thanks again, Jax- I… _we_ really appreciate it."

The smile she has for him is shaky, but genuine- the first true Donna smile he's seen since Stockton. Not that he blames her; since the moment she'd come out the visitor's door of the prison- curled in on herself, her shoulders shaking with sobs- he'd been kicking himself for once again being a selfish asshole. True, he'd been desperate to get the fuck out of there- partially to escape his best friend's contempt and give him and Donnal at least the illusion of privacy, and partially desperate for a smoke- but he should've known how difficult it would be for Donna to leave Opie behind bars for the first time.

Christ, it's a feeling he knows all too well- even though it's been years since anyone he's close to has gotten locked up. He remembers how most of his visits to JT had ended, at least in the early days- with himself (and on that last, short bid, Tommy) pressed up against the window, wondering if his dad was really okay on his own in there, locked up in that massive concrete mountain. Away from them, where anything could happen.

He'd flicked his cigarette away quickly and rushed to Donna's side, ignoring her when she tried to wave him off and looping his arm around her shoulder until they reached Opie's truck. Opening the door for her, he'd waited until she crawled into the passenger seat and scooted just far enough inside, then gingerly shut the door behind her.

And that was it, really- although it had felt like he'd had one eye trained on his friend and one on the road ahead the entire way back from Stockton, they hadn't said a word. Hell, they hadn't really needed to- it was enough to know the other person was there, feeling at least some of the same shit at the prospect of losing a love, a friend. Occasionally, she'd reach out and squeeze his hand, or he hers- though he wasn't sure who was comforting who at this point. And so, Jax is almost surprised to hear Donna's voice as he turns down the familiar block to take her home.

_Home._

He's still not completely worked out just how he feels about it- Donna taking over the garage apartment over at the vet clinic. Since the first time he'd darkened its doorway, it's been _Tara's_ place and it had soon become his as well. It had seen some of their best times; that night right after she'd moved in quickly comes to mind- the night he'd surprised her with a bed to call her own which they'd spent sipping champagne from each other and so in love he could still literally fucking _taste_ it. It had also seen some of their worst; Jax cringes as he remembers his reaction to the pregnancy test mixup… to her scholarship letters… Christ, even the last time they'd been together here had been marred by everything currently piling up on them.

Still, it had been their place, had quickly prompted Jax to envision them starting a family in a home of their own one day down the road. And every goddamn time he cruises past it, its like every last feeling he'd ever had there rushes through him once again – and it's just another thing to add to the rapidly growing list of bullshit he doesn't know how to deal with.

And yet, Jax can't imagine someone else- some stranger- occupying the place Tara once had. In fact, the thought fills him with an ire he wouldn't even begin to be able to explain to anyone who asked- something that only subsides slightly with the knowledge that Donna's going to be here instead of some other asshole, that this was Tara's way of taking care of her friend from wherever the hell she is and that it helps him fulfill his promise to Opie, however slightly. And he knows goddamn good and well he'd never have been able to stay in the place without her- the ghost of her haunts him enough as it is…

"Jax?" A cool hand on his arm serves to bring Jax back to the present- Donna's sitting in the passenger seat, legs folded underneath her and eyeing him carefully. Christ, she'd just finished thanking him for being there for her, at which time he'd promptly spaced the fuck out. _Nice job, Teller, you're really on a roll today._

"Shit, sorry- I…" Jax lets his voice trail off, no longer willing- or able- to either maintain the vibe they'd had earlier in the day or explain himself. Donna shoots him a sympathetic smile, then pats his arm, leaving her hand where it lay.

"Opie, uh… well, I heard what he said to you."

"I'm sorry about that too- I didn't mean to let that bleed over into your visit-"

"Oh, Ope wouldn't talk about it with me," Donna interjects, quickly, "I mean, we just sort of... spent time together." Tears well up for a brief moment, before she looks away, pushing past them and refocusing on Jax. "But I _know_ Opie, and I know he'll come around eventually-" Jax snorts, interrupting her reassurances.

"I know him too- and the only way he's gonna listen is if I find Ta- _find her_ and drag her to goddamn Stockton with me."

"Well, then… why _won't_ you?" Donna says, softly, raising her hands and letting them drop, helplessly, in her lap. _Christ, which reason does she want?_ Defeated, Jax goes with the simplest.

"I don't even know where she _is_ , Don- _no_ one does… unless she told you."

"I already told you what she said that day, Jax- I'm sorry."

"And that's just the problem- I don't know how I'm supposed to ride off and go hunt her down if I don't even know where to start lookin'." Silently, Donna studies him a moment as her eyes narrow, and he can just about fucking tell he's not going to like what she says next.

"It sounds like a lot of excuses, Jax. I'm sorry, but it does." He opens his mouth to protest, but Donna's glare- now at full strength- shuts him down. "I think you have to start asking yourself if you really love her-" quickly, she holds up a hand, again nipping his indignant protests in the bud, "-and I _know_ you do- I can _tell._ You're fucking _miserable_ without her- Jesus, you won't even say her name out loud, its like she's a dead Aboriginal warrior and you're paying your respects…" Donna ignores the confused stare this prompts in favor of continuing, insistently. "And Tara- _she_ was miserable without _you_ the day she stopped to say goodbye... and all the days before it. This wasn't easy for her, Jax- I _know_ , 'cause I was _there._ Now, I don't know if you're a coward, like Opie said… but I _do_ know you've got your pride. What you have to decide now is whether that's what's keeping you here, away from her, whether it really is the stupid club, and whether you love her enough to put it aside no matter what you _think_ she did to you. Fuck what all these other assholes say- _including_ Opie." Jax can't help but smile, brokenly- she's made it all sound so simple, but the problem is, it's just… _not_.

"And then what?"

"Then you gotta decide what's more important to _you_ , and so does Tara." His smile slides away, forgotten, as the pain of the decision Tara had made without him comes rearing back.

"She already did that, Donna, the day she left." Nodding, Donna shrugs in defeat, her hand finally slipping from his arm.

"Then I guess there's nothing left to talk about." She's out of the truck, the door slamming behind her, before Jax can muster up the will to say anything in response. Desolately, he watches her climb the stairs, waits until her back disappears behind the familiar wooden door. Then, reluctantly, he puts the truck in gear, dreading the rest of the afternoon and evening to come- one he'll undoubtedly spend at the clubhouse, forced to fend off questions about Opie now, in addition to croweaters, JT, and Gemma.

Jax is about halfway down the gravel drive, rocks popping beneath the threadbare truck tires, when something catches his eye. He looks up to find Donna, jogging down the drive towards him and clutching something in her hand.

"Sorry…" she gasps, out of breath even as he cranks down the ancient window, "...but I found this under the bed when we were moving my stuff in… and I kept meaning to give it to you… but I thought… it might be important."

She shoves the small, white box at his chest and is gone with a small wave before Jax can begin to get his bearings back. As such, it takes him a moment to realize what she'd handed him, and what's inside; then, the flood of what it had meant to him at the time- what he had hoped it would mean to _Tara_ \- rushes over him, drowning him once again in his own personal pool of misery. And suddenly, the pull to have some part of her he can reach out and touch- even something he hadn't had the chance to give her, yet, is too strong. Blindly, he rips open the paper, barely glancing at the box's contents before folding it in his palm, the cool metal instantly warming to his touch. There's a brief, wild moment where he seriously considers taking a drive out to the reservation and flinging it at the willow through the still-open window, or maybe even dropping it right _there_ , behind the front wheel, throwing the truck into reverse and jamming the pedal to the floor.

Instead, Jax sits a moment, rubbing his thumb over the smooth surface as if it may hold a clue to exactly where she'd gone, and exactly what- if anything, he's supposed to do, here. Then, he simply drops Tara's gift into his pocket… and drives on.

If, every time he slips his hand into his pocket on the way to the Winston house to pick up his bike- a tally he loses count of over the relatively short, ten minute drive- the warm metal feels like its burning his fingertips, as if to remind him of its significance, well… it's probably just his imagination.


	3. Ch 2

****I own nothing you recognize****

The quad is crowded for a Friday afternoon, full of students of all kinds- from those obviously fresh out of class and loaded down with books to some clearly enjoying the late summer day in the sunshine. So crowded, in fact, that Tara almost misses him amongst the mass of humanity gathered on the largest patch of grass on campus. She's been posted up here, in the shade of the squattest of the valley oaks that dot the area, for hours now- alternately skimming the contents of a thick textbook and watching snippets of the activity that surrounds her.

She's in the midst of watching a stocky fraternity type fruitlessly try to wrest a frisbee from the clutches of an equally sturdy mutt, when someone else catches her eye. He's leaning against a nearby tree and definitely overdressed for the weather. It's hellaciously hot out, as evidenced by the waves of warmth Tara can actually see radiating from the sidewalk, bending and blurring the grass beyond as if it's watercolor. Still, this guy is dressed in what appears to be a black hoodie- though that's not what's caught Tara's eye.

No, _that_ had been his wheat-blonde hair, peeking out from under his black baseball cap and just barely brushing his wide shoulders. His back is to her, but the sight of those golden locks had drawn her eye from halfway across the quad- and is now sending her heart speeding towards its upper limits. As she watches, he slouches against the tree and cranes his neck, seemingly searching the crowd for something- or someone. Jesus, she's not even the one who'd been brought up in constant vigilance over some family flaw, but her heart is practically flailing in an attempt to keep up with the sharp spikes of adrenaline spearing through her chest.

He pauses in his scanning of the crowd before him and rummages through a pocket for something. Tara can't tell from this distance what it is until she watches the unmistakable motions of him withdrawing a cigarette from its pack, then raising it to what she knows to be his lips, though he's still facing away from her. It's a queer feeling, really; the familiar gesture sending up jolts of longing, almost intimacy, while she's still struggling to fucking breathe correctly.

The book slides off her lap, long forgotten, and the sudden, bursting need to move- to take _action_ \- that she hasn't felt since the day she left Charming comes roaring back... Except her body's bein controlled by her heart, _both_ are way ahead of her brain, and she's got no earthly idea whether she's moving away from him or towards him. All she knows is that she's pushing up off her blanket before he has the chance to find his lighter and halfway on her feet- when a slender blonde jogs over from a nearby group and flings herself into his arms.

As he bends his head to kiss her, the cigarette now tucked away behind his ear, Tara sinks back into the tree, sliding down its rough length until she's once again hidden away in its shade _. Of course it isn't him_ , her rational mind snarks- finally catching up with her heart, which is still racing irrationally even as all the reasons this man obviously isn't Jackson begin glaring like beacons across the bright square.

The hair's a bit too dark to belong to someone who spends his days on a stretch of blacktop under the California sun. The frame's a little too slight to represent the lean muscle Jax had packed on these past couple years while wrestling his bike into submission on the highway- not to mention manhandling tires, parts, and God knows what else at T-W, plus whatever the hell he does on runs with the club.

_Even the way he handles his girl is all wrong_ , Tara can't help but think as she watches the couple make out beneath their own tree, completely oblivious to her keen observations. He's got his arms looped casually around her waist. Even his hands are wrong- joined at the small of the girl's back instead of buried in her hair, cradling her jaw as if she's what he treasures most in this whole world.

Closing her eyes once again in an attempt to shake off the comparison- not to mention her erratic breathing- Tara fumbles, blindly, for her book and rests the heavy volume on her knees. Even after all these weeks- with school to ground her and without the heavy weight of the what if's and fear hanging over her head, the noise is still here. Still noise- as evidenced by the fact that she's seeing Jackson's face in random blonde haired men- but different… Changed in some immeasurable way that Tara finds she can't put words to.

She's spent most of her days on campus, and so far, it's been almost everything she'd ever hoped it would be – except for the one, secret piece of her heart that's seemingly gone forever. Still, the few classes she'd managed to enroll in despite nearly missing the deadline for the second summer session are fulfilling- challenging her mind in a way she'd sorely missed these past few months while deep in the middle of losing herself in everything that was Charming, SAMCRO and Jax. And in those hours in the ivory halls of her new university, Tara finds that she's content.

She's always loved school, really- had never learned to dread it like most kids, not even as a teenager in San Diego when her friends would lament the upcoming school day over the phone on Sunday evenings, or suggest skipping out on eighth period on Friday afternoons to hit the beach. Not when she returned to Charming, only to earn the ire of half the female student body because Jax had focused his attentions on her. Not when she got suspended for hitting Melissa, not under the influence of her boyfriend- the Charming High truancy record holder- and not even when Jax had graduated early and left her to finish school without him.

No, she'd quickly learned that besides Jax, school was the best way to escape the darker side of her life. As a kid, she'd come to rely on the haven that was Charming Elementary to provide a counterpoint to the quiet chaos she'd come to know at home- as the life slowly drained out of her mother and the very man she knew as Daddy slowly drained out of her father. There, she alone was in control of her choices, her successes, and her failures.

Later, both in San Diego and back in Charming, too, learning, doing... _knowing,_ had saved her from the loneliness and the darkness- almost as much as her eventual relationship with Jax had. The classroom had been a source of challenge, empowerment, and even excitement as far back as she can remember, so it's not really a surprise it's a source of peace for her now.

_Peace._ It's really the best word Tara can come up with to describe the feeling that settles over her when she readies herself for a lecture, pen poised above a fresh sheet of college-rule, or even in the midst of a debate with an overzealous classmate. The classroom is the one place she's truly felt she belonged these past several months, with the one glaring exception being Jax's arms. And on that note, maybe it's fitting that it's only once class is over and she's walking the sunny campus that the noise in her head begins to stir up again.

Really, it hits her in a different, tiny way each time. She'll be leaving a discussion session, smiling to herself at the thought of the praise she'd just received from the TA, and moments later feel the creeping melancholy begin to set in as she remembers what she'd left behind.

Sometimes, he wriggles into her thoughts in the middle of what should be the most ordinary activities for a college student. She'll be waiting in line at the dining hall and find herself alternately imagining them there together- sharing questionable cafeteria food and surreptitious kisses- and sitting at JT and Gemma's table for one of SAMCRO's family dinners, the only time she'd truly ever felt herself to be among family. The other day, she'd been wandering through a career fair in the student union and found herself suddenly unable to banish the vision of Jax next to her in a University tshirt and his arm around her waist.

But as always, no matter how she spends her days, the nights are still when she misses him the most. Some nights, the darkness seems to zero in on her until she can just about imagine she's back in Charming, in their apartment… And then she's merely waiting for Jax to return from some run, smelling of wind and freedom. She can almost feel him stealing into their bed in the dark to curl around her, slipping his leg between hers and his hand into her panties...

She's never sure, really, when reality is going to set in. Sometimes, it all seems so real- as if she could turn over and press her lips to his, feel him slide into her so she can lose herself in him the way she'd been doing since they were barely sixteen. On the worst nights, she does just that- only to be confronted with an empty space where her love used to be. Those nights are the hardest, nights where she cries until the throbbing in her head outstrips all the other, myriad ways she misses him.

Other nights, the realization that she and Jax hadn't truly been _them_ since Opie had gone inside hits her full force somewhere in the midst of the ghost of his hands sliding over her hip, or the imagined whisper of his breath on her neck… and utter humiliation slams into her as the noise is winnowed down to one, cruel, voice of reason.

_How pathetic are you?_

It sneers, always in a familiar tone that Tara can't quite bring herself to identify in the moment.

_You chose to leave him- and your family- behind. And still, here you are, in your fancy little college town, fantasizing about your high school boyfriend._

And _oh_ , Jax had been so much more than her boyfriend- he'd been her _best_ friend, her safe place, and so many of the pieces that made her who she was… which was why she'd crumbled so badly when he'd started to take them all back.

_Jax made his priorities clear_...

The rational self somewhere in the recesses of Tara's brain reminds her, and she's long since given up arguing with herself until her mind's spinning in circles- it's part of what's been keeping her from falling down the proverbial rabbit hole every time she misses him. So she doesn't point out that Jax's intentions when it came to her had been clear as mud for weeks following Opie's arrest, much less when they'd finally talked about the situation the afternoon of his sentencing.

After all, what does that matter when all he'd had to do to make his message abundantly plain, was to simply stay away? He'd promised they'd talk about what had been bubbling under the surface, what had briefly reared its ugly head… _tomorrow._ And when tomorrow had come- not to mention the next day, the _next_ day, and several after that- he'd been conspicuously absent, driving home the inevitable point she's now sure he'd been reluctant to make in person:

When push comes to blood, Jax Teller has SAMCRO in his veins, and anything else will forever come in a distant second.

A point that had, in fact, become crystal clear over the intervening weeks, when she'd heard nothing from the man that had once claimed to love her more than anything else in the whole world. Sure, she'd told only one living soul about her plans, choosing to leave the rest of Charming in the dark. She'd known what his intentions would have been had he come tearing into town with SAMCRO at his heels. The only thing she'd been altogether _uncertain_ of was her willpower to refuse Jax- especially if he'd turned up on her doorstep her first night alone in her new apartment and asked her to return with him.

Except… Jax hadn't done any of that. Hadn't come looking for her in the place she'd partially chosen for its proximity to one of the best Universities in the area, yes, but also because she knew it was one of the first places he'd likely try if he truly wanted to find her. Which, he apparently didn't- a fact that had been further punctuated by his similar refusal to reach out in any way whatsoever.

She hadn't been hiding, so to speak; her name is all over the student rolls plus the roster to the work-study job she'd procured upon her arrival. Hell, even the lease to her apartment is in her name- plus, she'd been forced to list a reference and had used the only person she could think of from her former life.

_And why would he? You moved on and left him to rot in fucking Charming- why wouldn't he move on, too? After all, it isn't like he doesn't have plenty of willing options..._

Tara sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, and slams the thick Statistics book closed once again without a further look, focusing instead on the couple under the next tree. The poor substitute for the person she'd loved more than anything in the world is now nuzzling his girl's neck and suddenly, she can't watch them be happy for one more moment- not when she's smarting all over again at the fact that he'd let her go so easily.

"Stats got the best of ya, huh?"

Tara practically jumps out of her skin, jolting upwards as the speaker- a petite brunette sporting an enviable late summer tan and a set of pale green scrubs - plops down next to her.

" _Jesus_ , Sarah…" Tara breathes as the other girl stretches out in the comfort of the shade and closes her wide-set brown eyes, contentedly. She doesn't respond for a moment, doesn't even open her eyes when she finally speaks again.

"Oh, don't tell me you were _that_ lost in the fascinating world of statistics," Sarah teases, a smile curling her lips. "In fact, I'd swear you were spaced the hell out when I walked up just now. You didn't even hear me call your name, did you?" Tara reddens, slightly, grateful the other girl can't see her as she dutifully slides the book onto her lap once again, opening it to a page at random as Sarah continues. "You almost looked like you'd seen a ghost." This time, Tara can't help but snicker. _Jesus, if she only knew…_

"I guess I sort of did," Tara returns, evenly, settling back into the tree and searching, desperately, for something to distract her friend from this line of questioning. Not one to be deterred, Sarah twists her upper body- a bit awkwardly, yet gracefully all at the same time- in order to train a skeptical eye on Tara, sitting slightly behind her current position spread across the blanket.

"You're a goddamn mystery, Knowles, you know that?" Again, Tara finds herself blushing under her friend's scrutiny, fidgeting slightly with the edges of the book and more anxious than ever to change the subject.

"Far from it, trust me-"

"No, I mean it," insists Sarah, sitting up abruptly and tucking her stick-straight caramel highlights behind her ears before leaning forward to rest her chin on her knees, her eyes earnest. " _First_ , you show up from God knows where-"

"I _told_ you, it's in northern-"

" _Then_ …" Sarah pauses for effect- "the work study committee magically decides to fill the front desk position that's been empty ever since that _bitch_ Debbie graduated last spring-" Tara rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, because my old boss-"

"And _then_ …" Tara sighs in defeat, choosing instead to raise an eyebrow and let her finish, "You're studious, a bit quiet- a _lot_ melancholic but still sweet- and already a bit mysterious because you just showed up in the middle of the summer term like you belonged here already. _Until_... " Sarah shakes her head in wonder, remembering. "Matt, the cutest intern on the staff - the one that looks like fuckin' Mark _Wahlberg_ for Christ's sake and may as well be a goddamn Calvin Klein model himself… _Matt_ asks who the new girl is and why she looks so familiar, and _you_ say…"

_Oh, Jesus Christ._ Tara's cheeks pinken further, remembering exactly which smartass comment she'd lobbed back at him. She'd become so accustomed to flirtatiously bantering with Jax over the preceding years- and so _un_ accustomed to male attention, since the majority of the guys in Charming were hesitant about meeting her eyes directly when Jax was around- that she'd spoken without thinking.

"Well? What did you say?" challenges Sarah, like Tara's a reluctant six year old. Tara rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, stubbornly- it had been embarrassing enough the first time. " _Riiiight_ ," goads Sarah snickering. "Something like- _Why, you been dreaming about me?_ Wasn't that it?"

Groaning, Tara lets her head loll back on the tree trunk once again. It had been exactly the sort of shit she'd heard Jax use on the flocks of girls that had attempted to make their way into his pants her first few weeks in Charming. Exactly the sort of smart remarks the two of them had exchanged with each other once they'd grown comfortable in their relationship.

And… exactly the sort of shit the Tara Knowles she'd been in Charming would _never_ have said out loud to anyone else, let alone a stranger she actually works with.

"So not only are you some sort of tragically beautiful mystery girl that spends all her time alone, you're also a closet smartass who flirted with the hottest intern at the clinic-"

"Don't remind me," Tara groans, but Sarah's on a roll, now.

"But ever since that day you barely look his way- and you're right back to being the quiet little front desk girl we've come to to know. Well, as well as anyone actually _knows_ you, I guess… Except now…" Sarah drops her head back dramatically, " _Now_ , you're quiet, _sexy_ little Tara, and _all_ the men of the Student Health Clinic are obsessed."

"Oh please," Tara scoffs, snorting. "There are exactly two men that work over there, and of the two, only Chris has even talked to me more than once." She chuckles, picturing the way her slightly overzealous coworker had all-too-casually leaned across the front desk on his way out yesterday. He'd asked her what she was up to on Friday- even did his best to eye her from head to toe- and they both knew full well there wasn't one shred of attraction there. "But I'm pretty sure that was only because he wanted my Friday hours."

" _Obsessed._ " Sarah returns, firmly, "Even though it's possible Chris is only obsessed with wondering what's caught Matt's eye." Her expression turns thoughtful for a moment as she considers the possibilities, then shrugs. "Face it, Tara- you're a... " she pauses, momentarily, before her face lights up as she lands on the right word- "an _enigma._ You've been working at the clinic for weeks now, and none of us really know you at all. And trust me- we've compared notes. Hell, you and I have eaten lunch together at least twice a week since you started and even _I_ don't really know who you are outside of your welcome bio that's hanging on the bulletin board in the entryway."

Sarah sits up, primly- quoting: "Tara Knowles, eighteen years old-"

"Nineteen-"

" _Nineteen_ years old," Sarah continues as if she hadn't even spoken. "Hometown- bumfuck California. Major- biology and pre-med. Favorite color- flannel or black, can't decide which-"

"It does _not_ say all that," Tara chides, finally giving in and dissolving into giggles as the other girl continues. _Christ, it feels good to laugh..._

"Relationship status- unknown. General demeanor- _forlorn_ -"

"Jesus Christ, do you have one of those word-a-day calendars, or-"

"Weekend plans…" Sarah's voice rises, insistently drowning out Tara's protests- "End of the summer block party at Sigma Chi." She waits, expectantly, sipping water from a plastic bottle and eyeing Tara as she tilts her head in confusion, her nose wrinkling slightly as the strange words seem to echo a bit in her head.

"Sigma Chi- like, a fraternity?" Now it's Sarah's turn to roll her eyes.

"Nope. See, we're actually taking a weekend trip to Greece and- hey, _ow_!" She's half laughing, half indignant as Tara reaches across and tilts the bottle of water abruptly, knocking it into Sarah's mouth and sloshing its contents all over her green scrub top. "Okay, _okay_. Yes, it's a frat. And _yes_ , they're having a party- it's like the last big event of the summer before the freshmen start showing up for rush week and orientation. Pool party, barbecue, and either five bucks or a good word at the door gets you all the lukewarm keg beer you can handle."

"You have _no_ idea how appealing that sounds… _really_ ," Tara responds drily. "But… I can't. I have this stats test on Monday, and it's my hardest class, and-"

"Ohmygod, _tell_ me you're not going to start piling on with the excuses," Sara groans. "Listen, I know you have some shit going on- with your parents or your family, with a friend, with an ex, I don't _know_ , but…"

_Try all of the above._

"You're a nineteen year old woman at one of the best schools in the state, and you've been acting like a thirty-something divorcee with a couple kids at home the way you rush out the moment your shift is over. Face it Tara- you can't just sit around waiting for your Prince Charming to come and sweep you off your feet, and if you aren't-"

The words slam into her like a freight train, innocent as they are… _Prince Charming_. How many times had she heard someone refer to Jax by that very title? How many times had she herself used it to tease him, knowing just how much he hated it. Hell, even she'd hated it just as much at other times, when they weren't teasing. She'd despised how the bolder croweaters treated it as a term of endearment, how the simpering girls at school would rest a hand on his arm, flutter their lashes and call him the Prince- as if he didn't have to hide a grimace every time he heard the name aloud.

Christ, now _she's_ grimacing- remembering the teenagers, the college girls… the fully grown women who'd all but ignored her in their quest to get an 'in' with the club and its heir apparent. As much as she misses Jax- so much it physically hurts, if she's being honest with herself- she's not sad she'd left his groupies far in her rearview mirror.

_Betcha he hasn't_ -

That inner voice supplies, nastily, and just like that, Tara can't listen to the nagging, the obsessing, the fucking speculation for one more moment… even if it's within her own goddamn head.

"Fine, I'll go-" she blurts out, halting Sarah's chatter mid-stream. Sarah's mouth hangs open a moment as her eyes narrow, searching Tara's for any sign of sarcasm or bullshit, then-

"Jesus Christ, Knowles, you didn't even let me get started on my sales pitch." Tara shrugs, unwilling- _unable_ \- to explain Jax, SAMCRO, and all the rest. Sarah rolls her eyes, pushing off the blanket so she can stand and toss her backpack over a shoulder. "I won't even ask what's got you changing your mind-" her eyes narrow slightly "-or why you suddenly look like you just lost your best friend. I'm just happy you're doing something for yourself for a change."

"And what time will I be doing this _for myself_ tonight, anyway?" Tara doesn't attempt to keep the sarcasm from putting an edge on her words, suddenly realizing she sounds for all the world like- _God help me-_ Gemma.

"We'll pick you up at nine! Wear a swimsuit!" Sarah practically sings over her shoulder, making a hasty retreat down the sidewalk before Tara can respond.

_Who the hell is "we"?_

_And what the hell did I just get myself into?_

* * *

Arriving at a pool party- particularly at a fraternity house- is nothing like arriving at a SAMCRO party, Tara discovers quickly. For one, the street outside is filled, not with a slew of black and chrome, but with an array of cages that would have any of the patched members shaking their heads. Briefly, she pictures Chibs, Kozik or even Tig sauntering with distaste past the row of Thunderbirds and Monte Carlos- all in prerequisite, "Daddy's money", shades of red and yellow. The result is a brief bout of homesickness she figures she's better off not investigating.

"Jesus Christ, this place is a fucking palace." The observation- more cynical than awestruck- comes as Chris leans halfway across the passenger seat of his run-down Chevy, craning his neck at the scene just across the lawn from his passenger window. Tara, too, gazes out her own rear window at the stately Georgian that houses the Sigma Chi fraternity. It's a far cry from the fairly modest lot back at Teller-Winston, and not a reaper or circle-A within sight. She watches as throngs of people pour in and out of the imposing front entrance, some milling about on the brick patio while others are circling around a well-worn path along the side of the house- ostensibly, towards the pool area that must be in the back.

"Yeah, well, I hate to disappoint you, but it's been full of nothing but guys for about the last forty or fifty years- I'm sure the interior doesn't measure up to the exterior," Sarah replies, pulling down the visor mirror and aiming a tube of lip gloss at her lips, only to jump and drop the gloss entirely as a blurry figure practically takes off the passenger side mirror while bolting past them on the asphalt and up onto the curb.

"I'm thinking _nothing_ here has an interior that matches the exterior," Tara intones, drily, watching the blur- who turns out to be a heavily tanned blonde girl in a minidress and heels- slow considerably as she reaches the grass. She can't help but snicker as the blonde's heels sink into the lush greenery until she reaches her destination- a similarly dressed redhead who jumps up and down in excitement before practically strangling her friend in an embrace. Self consciously, Tara tugs at the hem of the denim skirt she'd thrown on- along with a simple black tank and flip flops- over her swimsuit. Evidently, her idea of pool party attire had been way, _way_ off the mark, here.

"Oh, don't be such a cynic, Tara-" Sarah snarks, retrieving her lip gloss and completely ignoring her own cynical comments regarding the interior of the Sigma Chi house. "Everyone goes to their end of season parties- you're just as likely to find a fellow science nerd as you are a sorority type."

"I'm-"

"Whatever you're about to say… don't," snorts Chris, peering around the back of the driver's seat to narrow his eyes at Tara. "I may not know you very well- yet- and you may be just the front desk girl over at the clinic… but I've seen you studying when you think the rest of us aren't paying attention, and you got some big, science-y dreams floating around in that pretty little head of yours." Sarah sticks her tongue out even as Tara rolls her eyes at the both of them.

"That's not what I was going to say. My _point_ -" she gestures towards the two girls, who are now in the process of trotting across the grass like newborn foals, occasionally stumbling over an embedded heel. "My point is that regardless of major or social group, some people are willing to completely change who they appear to be to impress people."

_Including you-_ her inner voice snarks, apparently desperate to remind her of her own gradual- though reluctant- acceptance of some of the more biker-friendly styles and attitudes Gemma had-

Her mind stops short on the one realization- _Gemma_.

And all at once, the origins of the inner voice that had been tormenting her since weeks before she'd finally made her escape from Charming, emerge from the haze that is her bruised ego. Well, it's the superego, actually- the very thing she'd studied the week before in psych class. It's that negative source of self-criticism and inhibiting censorship that remained her primary source of self-doubt.

Of _course_ her inner critic sounds like Gemma- the one person who'd always known just what to say, just which buttons to push to have her questioning her own motives and desires. The one person besides Jax himself she'd found herself unable to face before leaving town.

_Pussy._

Pushing away the internal conversation between herself and Gemma- yet again- Tara focuses, instead, on the conversation drifting from the front seat.

" -nothing wrong with dressing up and doing something fun every once in a while. Everyone deserves a good time- right, Chris?"

"Everyone but _me_ , apparently," He aims a withering glare at Sarah. "Of _course_ the night you finally get Miss Cynic here to ride along, I miss all the fun."

"And who told you to take Organic Chem, of all things, over the summer?" At his answering growl, Sarah giggles, lightly "I don't suppose now is a good time to ask what time you'll be here to pick us up?"

"Library closes at 11:30, so I'll be here at 11:45, latest." He glares after Sarah as she gathers her things and jerks her head at Tara. "And I don't care what or _who_ you're doing – when the clock strikes midnight, you better be in this goddamn carriage, Cinderella."

They're still laughing as Chris pulls away from the curb with a honk. And somehow, something about the night air, the thumping music emanating from the backyard, and the way Sarah links arms with her as they start up the long front walk toward the gorgeous old Georgian has Tara feeling more lighthearted than she has in a long time.

"So are- were- you and Chris a… _thing_?" she can't help musing as they reach the edge of the patio and pause at the front entrance. Sarah snorts, chuckling under her breath and fishing through her purse.

" _Christ_ , no. I mean, he asked me out once, way back when we first started at the clinic- we started on the same day, you know. But our date ended with the world's most platonic kiss, if you know what I mean."

"Um-" but Sarah's continuing, thankfully, before Tara's forced to admit she'd spent pretty much her entire dating life kissing Jackson Teller- and even when they'd been trying to fool themselves that they were just childhood friends, the kissing had always been anything but platonic.

"It was like…" Sarah frowns, remembering, "well, I won't say kissing my brother, because I have three of 'em and trust me, that's fuckin' disgusting. But it was like, uh, kissing an old friend, it just felt… _wrong_. When it was over, he looked at me, I looked at him- and we both just started laughing." She shrugs, pressing the doorbell and speaking over the loud bonging that drowns out even the music inside for a moment. "It was pretty much the weirdest start to a friendship ever, but I love the guy, you know?" Tara smiles; she _does_ know- she's loved Jax and Opie since she can remember, and they'd all welcomed Donna into their circle years later. She'd do anything for them-

_Except stay in Charming_ , Gemma's voice snarks, wryly.

And now, the massive expanse of white oak Sigma Chi calls a door is creaking open, drowning out her thoughts once again and revealing a slightly bored-looking blonde guy with a Leo-as-Romeo haircut and a _Sigma Chi Bash '96_ t-shirt.

"'Kay, so if you want a cup, that'll be ten bucks," he recites for what's clearly the thousandth time tonight, gesturing towards a towering stack of red plastic cups on the table next to him. "Or if y'all just wanna stay and party, it's five." Finishing his spiel, the Leo wannabe folds his arms expectantly, ignoring the group of girls that push past him out the door and around the side of the house.

"Wait, we have to pay even if we're not gonna-" Tara begins, but even before the doorman's eyes can roll back in their sockets, Sarah's slapping a twenty into his hand with a grin and somehow simultaneously directing a withering glare in her direction.

"You're _gonna._ Now let's go."

Minutes later, they've picked their way mostly through the crowded house, shouldering past nearly every subset of the university's population just as Sarah had predicted. In fact, it seems like _everyone's_ here- from sorority girls and obvious members of the football team to kids still clinging to the grunge look and and the occasional, usually-studious faces Tara recognizes from her classes. There are people seated on the massive staircase, spilling off tufted leather sofas, grinding against one another to the thump of the music pouring out of the many speakers, loudly chattering, laughing, wrestling, arguing, hugging – and the mass of humanity inside the tightly-packed Sigma Chi house is doing it all while clutching the ubiquitous red plastic cup.

"Beer's out here!" Sarah seems to be calling as the music changes, eliciting a raucous cheer from the house – though Tara can only guess at what she's saying as the din succeeds in fully drowning out the actual words coming from her friend's mouth. Still, she allows Sarah to drag her towards a set of French doors, spread wide open to allow the constant throngs of people to spill out into the backyard- and together, they tumble into the night beyond.

Sarah's angling her head toward the cluster of people surrounding the keg, and Tara dutifully follows. It's cooler out here, despite the muggy summer night, and definitely much less stifling, less crowded than the confines of the house itself. The music, too, is still loud, but seems to float away into the night air instead of reverberating inside her very body. There are just as many people milling about on the cool grass and the cement pool deck, but somehow, the vibe out here is different, more relaxed, and Tara breathes a sigh of relief.

Maybe it's no mistake that the times she'd escaped the packed clubhouse- and Gemma's watchful eye- in a very similar way are on her mind as Sarah's voice drifts into her consciousness.

"Holy shit. This party is _insane_ , and it's still early!" she shouts- just a little too loudly for her surroundings, handing Tara one of the cups. Tara can barely contain her snort as she surveys the scene before her- sure, there are more people here than you could ever fit into SAMCRO's makeshift boys' club, but despite the noise and the people, it's really pretty damn tame.

She guesses it's probably wild by Sarah's standards- students of all persuasions are talking, laughing, dancing, and lounging on deck chairs- still sipping from the ever-present red cups. There's a guy on the diving board dumping a pitcher of beer into a funnel- which seems to be attached to a hose that snakes down and into the waiting mouth of what Tara assumes is one of the Brothers, diligently treading water and sputtering beneath the board. And as they round the edge of the pool and find an open spot near the ladder, Sarah's eyes widen and she looks appropriately scandalized at the sight of a couple writhing together on the nearest deck chair.

But a SAMCRO party, this isn't. For one, the only women without clothing on are actually in or near the pool itself. For another, the couple on the lounger have a long way to go to top the shit Tara's witnessed from Tig and his croweaters alone. And third, well… she'd long stopped considering it a party until she and Jax had stumbled into the apartment with a half-full bottle of Jack, laughing and kissing until they were breathless for an entirely different reason. Christ, they'd been a lot like that couple, really- barely able to keep their hands off each other regardless of the occasion. And as the two on the lounger finally come up for air and catch her eye briefly, Tara can't help but raise her cup a bit in tribute.

"Someone you know?" Sarah asks, her eyebrows arching as she bumps Tara's shoulder and takes a sip of her beer, and they watch for a moment as the guy fills one hand with his girl's ass and curves the other around the back of her neck, dragging her down to take her mouth again. Tara can only shake her head slightly – both in response to Sarah's question and at the fact that this is now the second couple she's watched in the midst of a passionate moment today- and take a sip of her own beer.

"Jesus, you weren't kidding when you said lukewarm," she complains, grimacing and changing the subject- not any more eager to begin discussing the shit constantly swirling around in her mind here at a fucking frat party than she's been since she arrived in this town. Sarah bites the inside of her cheek a moment- clearly filing something away for a later time- then shrugs, plastering a knowing grin on her face before agreeing.

"Yeah, yeah. As much as these boys like their status as the self-professed experts of throwing these ragers, they're pretty lazy about the execution when it comes right down to it. Not near enough ice to last much past the first two kegs. Actually-"

Whatever Sarah had been fixing her mouth to say is interrupted by a loud chorus of shouts from the cabana area, and to Tara's surprise, her friend perks up and cranes her neck at the group before waving at someone over her shoulder. Actually, upon closer inspection, she's not altogether sure _who_ her friend had been greeting; there are maybe ten guys crammed into the small area, and all seem to be huddled around a long table that takes up most of its space.

"C'mon"

The "table" turns out to be not a table at all, but what appears to be an actual closet door that had likely been removed from somewhere in the depths of the frat house itself and pressed into service atop two collapsible sawhorses. The boys have arranged several of the red plastic cups in some sort of formation on its top, and a brother appears out of nowhere with a plastic pitcher of beer and commences pouring.

Tara watches as he fills each with the amber liquid, sipping her own while Sarah talks animatedly with the guy that had apparently waved her over in the first place. And as the frothy liquid hits her belly, warming her from within- as the whoops and hollers, the music, and the revelry float into the night air, she relaxes a bit, basking in the anonymity of this place. This feeling of being nobody in particular, just another college student at just another party, is at once foreign and comforting. Until now, after leaving Charming she'd only felt it- felt _normal_ \- while in her classes here at the U.

Actually, she realizes vaguely, tipping her cup and draining the rest of her beer, she's _always_ been the one who sticks out, practically since her mother had taken sick to begin with. She'd been the one with the sick mom, subject of many a whisper by her classmates and a hushed- though sympathetic- conversation by their parents. It had gotten worse when Grace had actually died. _Then_ the town had talk of her drunk daddy to occupy them, not to mention his ever-quickening spiral into someone none of them recognized anymore.

In San Diego, she'd been the new girl all of her seven years there. Worse, she'd been the quiet girl, the one who had never really felt at ease with the carefree, SoCal way of life. And once back in Charming, well…

She'd had Opie- and especially Jax- to temper her reintroduction to small-town life, to dull the sting of her father's distance, the girls' mistrust. Eventually, she'd had Donna, Angela, and even Gemma to act as the voice of feminine reason she'd never thought she needed.

The men of SAMCRO had all eventually embraced her, especially JT- Christ, he'd been as close to a father as she'd had for a few years, there. Piney, too, had stepped up, stepped in where Rick Knowles hadn't. Hell, since she was a kid, she'd been tagging along wth Jackson and Harry, and none of them had batted an eye when she reappeared years later, a constant fixture under Jax's arm and in his bed at Club Reaper.

But as wonderful as her time with all of them had been- as much as she ached nearly every hour of every day with the knowledge that she'd given up the best things in her life… As much as she'd had to deal with the knowledge that she had burned all those bridges to the point where she didn't know if any of them would _ever_ willingly put their hearts in her hands and cross the gorge she'd left behind ever again… She has to admit she'd stuck out around SAMCRO, too.

And that had nothing to do with the love she'd felt from all of them, but with the undercurrent of realization that she, Tara Knowles, was different. Different from the club kids, different from the croweaters and hangaround women who wanted to become them. Different from the members and the other Old Ladies- because she would one day leave them to fulfill her own destiny. Some had been accepting- JT, Angela, maybe even Donna. Others had evidently assumed that she'd eventually do what _they'd_ been doing all along and ignore the pull towards _more,_ in favor of immersing herself into the world of SAMCRO. Gemma, for starters… and as it turned out, Jax himself.

"Your first time?"

It takes her a moment to realize the guy who'd been carefully filling the cups is now standing in front of her, holding the remains of the last pitcher. It takes a moment longer to realize he's actually _talking_ to her, and yet another to decipher his meaning as he angles his head towards the table.

"You could say that," Tara murmurs vaguely, not wanting to let on that she has absolutely no clue _what_ she's actually witnessing for the first time, aside from the frat party iself. Grinning, the guy nods towards her cup and raises his pitcher, a question in his eyes. She smiles back gratefully and tilts her cup towards him, allows him to fill it with the dregs of the pitcher as the game- whatever it is- kicks up again behind him.

He disappears with his pitcher and- her cup dangerously full- Tara finds herself having to take more than a few swallows before she trusts herself to focus on the pack of whooping boys before her. From what she can tell, the game involves tossing a pair of ping pong balls towards the assembly of filled cups on the opposite side of the table.

"We play in twos."

The voice comes from beside her, this time. The guy is back, now- sans-pitcher and clutching a cup of his own. He's attractive, she realizes, all wavy brown hair and subtly muscular, tanned body. His hazel eyes are friendly, and in that moment she realizes he appears to be assessing her, too. Then, there's an appreciative flicker as he raises the cup to his lips, grinning even as he does so. It's an odd feeling- yet another sensation that feels foreign but comforting all at the same time.

One of the things that had set her apart in Charming was her relationship with Jax; his reputation- the _club's_ reputation- had preceded him and as a result, there was hardly a man in Charming that would dare flirt with Tara Knowles. Not that she minded- he was hers and she was his… a hundred percent, body and soul, Jackson Teller's girl. But this guy, making small talk and grinning with promise- he treats her as if she were any other college girl… and again the anonymity of it all rushes through her so fast it's almost dizzying.

"So when the other team makes a shot, you gotta drink," he says, motioning towards the table, where one of the brothers is, in fact, fishing out a ball. He tosses it good-naturedly at his opponent and drains the contents of a cup.

"And then?"

"Game goes until one team knocks out all the other team's cups- and then they have to drink whatever's left and pay a penalty decided on by the other team. Most parties, and most coed games, it's one article of clothing per cup left on the table- but that don't make a lot of sense at a pool party." He winks, conspiratorially. "I happen to like those games better- 'specially when the girls're as pretty as you."

Flushing, Tara manages to smile and takes a long draught of her beer for lack of a better response. The guy doesn't seem to mind, just winks again and turns his attention back to the game- thankfully. All at once, Tara realizes that it's _nice_ , feeling normal- even if that means the attention of a pleasant, nameless boy for a few minutes. And she doesn't know what to do with the realization, so she focuses on the game, too- until it reaches its inevitable conclusion and the losing team is playfully forced to down a beer using the funnel she'd noticed in the pool earlier.

Game after game, she watches- alternately the target of heated whispers from Sarah (who'd evidently had an on-again-off-again relationship with the guy who'd beckoned them over here in the first place) and friendly conversation from the still-nameless guy who's remained at her side for over an hour now. He's been keeping her cup full and her thoughts blissfully in the present for the first time since… _Jesus_ , she can't even begin to name the last time she'd truly closed off the portion of her mind that seemed to work tirelessly to keep dragging the rest of it back to the borders of Charming.

If the first cup had been lukewarm, her second, third and fourth rapidly approached the temperature of the tepid air surrounding them, but she hadn't much cared- all that seemed to matter is the pleasant fuzz that insulated her from it all. So by the time cup number- _how many is this again_ \- is placed on the table itself instead of in her hand, she's far more focused on the hand on the small of her back that's gently propelling her forward than the actual words coming out of Sarah's mouth to care.

_Oh, we're expected to play_ , Tara realizes, as Nameless Guy's hand leaves her back once she's situated at the end of the table with Sarah. And then he's positioning himself at the other end with Sarah's… _whoever_ he is- eyes twinkling mischievously as he picks up a ball.

"You ready to lose, Gorgeous?"

She ignores Sarah's elbow digging into her side as she rolls her eyes, grinning and aiming her own ball dead center at the triangle of cups- set up just like a set of pool balls, ready for the break. And she'd played a hell of a lot of pool.

"Are you?"

Either she'd drastically overestimated the extent to which this game was like pool, or drastically underestimated her alcohol consumption and way it always completely obliterates her hand-eye coordination… because it's no time at all before they're losing. Badly. Tara groans as the fourth straight ball drops neatly into one of their cups, ignoring the good-natured ribbing coming from the boys across the way in favor of sliding the cup closer to the edge of the table so she can sip at the newest in her steadily-growing arsenal of drinks.

And so it goes- a miss by Sarah, who giggles haplessly as their opponents have to chase down the ball after it sails off the table altogether. A miss by Tara, gritting her teeth in frustration as the ball rims around the cup and bounces right into the boy's hand. And on their opponent's turns- make after make, until there's a single cup left on the table, and not a goddamn hope in the world left of winning.

As Sarah's friend lines up his shot, grinning cockily at them both, what the nameless boy had outlined minutes earlier floats back, unbidden. They'll be expected to pay a penalty- a forfeit of God knows what; and as her mind whirls rapidly from one wild possibility to the other, the ball plinks into the cup and it's all over, just like that. Instantly, the gathered crowd erupts, effectively drowning out Tara's groan. The boys across from them are slapping victorious high fives and tossing friendly barbs in their direction, but Sarah waves off all of them and tilts the cup back, draining the liquid within in one go.

"It's penalty time, boys!" one of the brothers in the crowd howls, jolting Nameless out of his celebrations, his attention focusing once again on Tara. His gaze is appreciative, and as the suggestions start popping up from the crowd, turns more calculating by the second.

"Beer bong! Two each!"

"Shots!"

"Streaking!"

"Yeah, let's see 'em!"

_Jesus Christ…_

But before Tara can dwell too much on the horror that is the thought of actually running, nude, in front of everyone here- even tipsy as she is- his eyes light up, seemingly landing on a decision.

"So I can't help but notice-" he pauses, waiting for the shouting to die down a moment before continuing, "-that you two are pretty much the only chicks here _not_ in your swimsuits." Self-consciously, Tara manages a weary glance down her body, as if to confirm that, yes, she's still sporting the tank and jean skirt she'd arrived in. "I think that it's time we fix that, don't you?"

A bit dazed, the alcohol from the past hour or so finally beginning to take its toll, she misses the point completely until he points at the pool itself, where the diving board seems to gleam under the soft light of the lanterns strung above it.

"Time to go for a swim, sweetheart."

And just like that, they're herded to the pool area where the rest of the party awaits, suddenly well aware something interesting is about to happen. Now, however, the feeling of blissful anonymity is long gone as the eyes of practically everyone at the party are trained on them. For a moment, Tara's thoughts are dragged back to those fateful nights on the Teller-Morrow/Teller-Winston lot- the moments she'd thought would shape her future…

Swinging a leg over the back of Jackson's bike on his sixteenth birthday… Standing before the entirety of SAMCRO to tell them of their President's betrayal… Kissing her love as he became a patched member of his father's club- as she became an Old Lady… Then- as now- a crowd's eyes had been on her. Waiting. Watching- to see if she'd measure up. And now- as then- her brain can't seem to fucking stop, even as she reluctantly steps out of the skirt, pulls the tank top over her head.

What drags her out of her momentary daze isn't the catcalls and whistles of the crowd- a reaction that had begun the moment she'd clutched the hem of the shirt. It isn't even the low voice of the brother playing DJ, vibrating through the speakers and egging them on above the closing strains of whatever song is playing.

Surprisingly, it's Sarah's fierce whisper, hissed hotly into her ear even as she grasps the metal rails of the ladder-

"That's some serious fucking ink, Knowles, what the-"

It's the surprise in the eyes of the still-Nameless boy, the light graze of the fingertips that skim briefly over the still-raised skin of that tattoo on her back- the realization that she'd been keeping a part of herself a secret. The fact that somehow, to some extent, now that secret's on full display- that has her snapping back to the present, pushes her, to move, as if by some unseen force, away from the hand that has no right to touch what she'd come to see as one of the only things of _him_ she has left.

And then the moment's lost, once again, as the music changes, the crowd's cheers drowning out even the opening guitar strains of the song. The song Tara actually knows, since SAMCRO- and by extension, Jax, who pretty much had an undying devotion to the music of his father's generation- may as well have its own radio station… all classic rock, all the time. Except this one is apparently some sort of Sigma Chi anthem, judging by the way practically everyone in the crowded pool area raises a cup and sings along.

_"She's a fast machine, she kept her motor clean…_

_She's the best damn woman that I've ever seen..."_

And suddenly, despite the familiarity of the song, the fact that the last time she'd heard it she'd undoubtedly been singing and dancing along with Jax, Opie, and Donna, Tara's caught up in the energy that surrounds her.

" _She had the sightless eyes, tellin' me no lies…  
Knockin' me out with those American thighs…"_

She takes a deep breath and practically struts down the length of the board like it's a goddamn catwalk.

_"Takin' more than her share, had me fightin' for air…  
_ _She told me to come, but I was already there,  
_ _'Cause the walls start shakin', the earth was quakin'...  
_ _My mind was achin' and we were makin' it  
_ _And you… shook me all night long!"_

It's a late summer night, she's nineteen, a college student, at a frat party... and in simultaneous love, lust and pure fucking heartbreak- but all that matters is the end of the board, the swoop in her stomach as her feet leave its surface, and the rush of the cool, clear water below.

* * *

The ride home is dark- blissful and quiet except for the soft murmurs of Sarah and Chris in the front seat and the soft strains of some old Elton John song drifting from the radio. Tara presses her forehead to the cool glass of the window, watching the streetlights melt into one another as they pass. Even as the party recedes further and further into the rearview mirror, it's almost as if the person she'd been there settles inside her, somehow.

Times like these, Tara can almost understand why her father had taken to drinking heavily after her mom had succumbed to cancer. Her limbs feel lax, liquid, her head pleasantly fuzzy- like all the sharp edges of the world had dulled, become somehow less threatening. For the first time since she'd left Charming, it's as if the knot that town and the people in it had tied around her heart had loosened, momentarily- eased by the pleasant buzz she'd managed to achieve in just a few hours at her first real college party.

They're still there- _he's_ still there- deep within her heart; she couldn't cut him out if she tried. But somehow, as yet more memories surface- Jax kissing her hand and pulling her through the crowded clubhouse to meet up with their best friends, idly playing his fingers in her hair as she rests her head on his lap in the back seat of the Cutlass- she's enveloped in warmth instead of grief. Feels like she can take a full breath for the first time in weeks… and she's got absolutely no idea how she feels about that.

"Tara?" Sarah's voice seems to float from the front seat, gently breaking into her train of thought. "We're here, kiddo." A bit dazed, Tara struggles for a moment to focus before confirming that they are, in fact, pulled up in front of her apartment complex. She's preparing herself to grasp the door handle- more, psyching herself up to leave the relative peace she'd found in the confines of the backseat- when Chris appears like magic outside her window. Opening the door himself, he waits, patiently, as she gathers the sandals, tank and skirt she'd dropped on the floorboards practically the instant she'd tumbled into his backseat.

"C'mon, party girl" Chris snickers, grasping her elbow gently and leading her up the walk. She lets him guide her away from the curb, swaying subtly in the right direction at each turn through the veritable maze that is the sidewalk leading past the overgrown courtyard and the other doors within. He releases her only when she needs to stoop, stumbling only slightly, to retrieve the key she's hidden under the mat. She thinks he frowns briefly at her as she tries, unsuccessfully, to thread the key into the deadbolt lock.

"This ain't a great neighborhood, Knowles," Chris says, concern at the edge of his voice; and it's so nice to have someone care that she's almost, _almost_ , able to ignore the fact that he sounds- at least in her alcohol-soaked mind- so much like Opie that she can't help but smile. Waving off his suggestions that she find somewhere a bit less obvious to leave her key, she manages, finally, to slide the key in question into the lock. She's still giggling softly when he rolls his eyes as she sags against the door.

"Thanks for caring," is all she can manage, patting his cheek like she'd done to Ope so many times, grinning lazily as Chris's brows knit.

"Of course I- Christ, you really _are_ drunk aren't you?" When her only answer is another giggle, he rolls his eyes yet again and pats her cheek right back, affectionately. "Go the hell to bed, kid- I am _so_ not covering for your ass tomorrow morning." And he's off, sauntering back down her walkway, alternately grumbling and chuckling to himself, leaving Tara to enter the cool, dark apartment alone.

She doesn't flip the light switch after she turns the deadbolt- preferring, instead, the way the dark itself seems to blanket the space, makes everything seem less empty. Doesn't even bother to change out of her bathing suit- though it's dry by now, thankfully. She just crosses the space in the blackness, picking her way around its sparse furniture by memory and flops directly onto the small bed, burrowing under the blankets as if somehow, they'd weight her down, slow the spinning of the room to a pleasant rocking by their presence alone.

She settles easily onto her left side- the way she had since she was a toddler- noticing at once the reading of the alarm clock on the small stool that serves as a makeshift nightstand. 12:30 AM- _Jesus_ , she's got to be at the clinic in just over seven hours and should really get to sleep… But then the red glow illuminates the photo propped up against the lamp- her favorite photo- and all at once it's like the peaceful darkness shifts, gives way to a sudden, bursting need to talk to the one person who'll understand it all. Everything from the hole in her heart that's marked the lowest points of her day to the true release of the easy, almost carefree fun she'd had tonight… and every moment in between where she'd struggled to reconcile the two.

More, she just aches to hear a familiar voice as she drifts off to sleep.

She's out of bed and dialing the number almost before she realizes what she's doing- hell, she's pretty sure the beer had more to do that than she'd like to admit. She's even more certain there's no way she'd have been able to recall the number itself had it not once been her own- but it all ceases to matter the moment the voice crackles through the earpiece.

_"H'llo?"_

"Jesus, did I wake you up? I'm sorry, I just… well, I just got home and I-"

" _T-Tara?"_ Her own name serves to stop her rambling for a moment, even as her brain briefly struggles to catch up. _"Is it really you?"_

"Hey, Donna" is all she can reply, weakly, setting off a barrage of questions from her friend.

_"Where the hell are you? Why the hell haven't you called? How- Christ, all you have to say is 'hey?' Hey!?"_ Closing her eyes against the torrent emanating from the earpiece almost as much as the way the room's once again commenced its spinning, Tara drops back down onto the bed, cradling the phone against her ear.

"I'm sorry, Don. I am. I just…I'm just a little drunk and I… just needed to hear your voice. I can, uh, l can let you go if-"

_"Don't you fucking dare hang up. Not when you've been gone for almost two months. Two months, Tara, and this is the first time I'm hearing from you. Not to mention, I don't even know how the hell to get ahold of you if you do hang up-"_ As Donna pauses- probably to catch her breath- Tara once again manages to get a word in edgewise.

"I'm sorry, I really am. I _had_ to go, Donna, I couldn't… couldn't wait on him anymore."

_"Tare…"_ Donna breathes, her voice at once softer, gentler. _"I know you did, sweetie. I've known it since I saw your face that day you left. This isn't about that, it's-"_ The line goes silent a moment, and Tara can almost hear Donna swallowing, sorting out in her mind what it is she has to say. _"I just never thought you'd cut us all off completely, you know?"_

"I didn't- it wasn't about cutting you off… _any_ of you," Tara adds, hoping the implication is clear. "I had to make a clean break at first, otherwise I didn't know if I'd be able to _do_ this- leave, and not turn back the moment I started missing you… which was the moment I passed the _Welcome to Charming_ sign." She sighs, then, hating the tears welling up in her eyes and the lump growing in her throat even as she fights to keep them at bay. "Plus, I figured everyone… _hated_ me by now anyway-"

_"Oh, sweetie…"_ Donna interrupts, though her voice immediately trails off, fondly. _"Nobody hates you."_ Another pause. _"Well… Gemma might-"_ And they both shift into stilted giggles that quickly become familiar, easier, as the silences between them grow more comfortable. _"So tell me- how's college life?"_

And just like that, they slide into an easy back and forth- simple, like every other conversation they've shared since they'd become friends at the Winston kitchen table. Tara tells Donna about her classes, about her job at the student health clinic, about the party she'd just left. And in return, Donna talks about her responsibilities at the vet clinic, how the guys had just brought her last boxes of stuff over to the apartment from the clubhouse, how Kozik and Angela had stopped by with a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift and stayed to crack it open and fill her in on the latest drama over at the clubhouse. Tara laughs at the mental picture Kozik sipping wine had provided, Donna chuckles and asks her just how tipsy she _really_ is... and together, they slip right back into the friendship they'd both sorely missed.

It's only when Donna mentions that Kozik had also brought by Opie's kutte- and the note of sadness that creeps into her voice even though she glosses over it and forces a stiff chuckle and a comment about how it seems to take up half her goddamn closet- when the elephant in the room makes its presence known once again.

"Donna… how is he- Opie?" Tara asks softly, instead of laughing at her friend's forced joke. And the sigh that comes over the line says everything, really.

_"I… I don't know, Tare. He's okay, I think. We- Jax and I- went to see him on the last visitor's day and he seemed… together. Ready. I was the one who had trouble getting my shit together after we left, but I think Sunday when we go back, I'll be a lot better. It's just…"_ Donna's voice wavers, and Tara can hear her clear her throat before she returns, steadier. _"It's just so hard to leave him there, you know? We sat and talked like nothing was different- Christ, it was like nothing had changed at all. But then time was up and I had to go- I had to leave him behind, and it was like the day he got arrested all over again…"_

Silence. And there's nothing Tara can say, really, to make things better for her friend- nothing but how she feels, what she needs Donna to know.

"Don, I'm sorry… I'm _so_ sorry I'm not there for you."

_"I'm okay- I really am. I have to be, because I have to be there for him, you know? And I'll keep being okay- I'll go see him every visitor's day I can because this is the only way we get through this. But can I ask you a favor?"_

"Anything," Tara agrees, readily, the guilt zeroing in on her heart once again, pressing on that most tender spot until she knows she'd do practically anything Donna asks, short of moving back to Charming itself.

_"Go see him. Please? You're one of his oldest friends- practically since you were babies- and he needs us, all of us, right now."_ There's a moment of hesitation, one that draws out a beat longer than is comfortable in the moment, before Donna continues. _"Plus Jax, uh… well, he told him you'd picked up and left town when we visited, and Ope really seemed to lose his shit on him. I uh… I think he'd want to know you're okay."_

"Okay…" Tara's voice trails off, uncertainly, and Donna seems to sense her unease.

_"Call Stockton and request to be put on his visitor's list- you don't have a record, so it shouldn't take long. Then let me know when you want to go and if you'd rather be alone, I guess. I don't know how far the drive is for you, but… we'll make it work."_

"Okay," she repeats, closing her eyes. She can do that- at _least_ that- for the boy who's been nothing short of a big brother for most of her life. Donna doesn't respond, the silence between them building-awkward for the first time- until Tara sighs, shakily, suddenly sensing the impending need to end the conversation before it goes somewhere she can't handle. "Well, I better let you get some sleep- I have to-"  
 _  
"He's not doing so well, Tare."_ Donna's words come out in a rush, leaving Tara short of breath for some reason, but altogether certain who _he_ is. _"Jax, I mean,"_ she adds, uselessly. She waits a moment- a moment in which all the air seems to be draining out of Tara's lungs, leaving her speechless and almost dizzy- before pressing on. _"He's been half killing himself trying to pull Ope's shifts and his own, but none of us ever see him unless he's in the garage, headed out on a run, or coming back from one. I… he picked me up to go visit Ope and Jesus, Tara- it looked like he hadn't slept in weeks."_

"Don, you know that's part of the reason I-"

_"Left him- uh, left Charming. I know."_ Tara cringes, Donna's choice of words awakening once again that interior monologue she's been trying to drown out since God knows when. _"But it's more than the shit he was dealing with before. It's more than the club, more than just Ope... Ever since you left, it's like… Like he's given up, Tara. To hear Gemma tell it, he's surviving on whiskey and weed, but even Gemma doesn't know for sure because he's been sleeping over at the clubhouse and refusing to talk to her. Christ, he's not talking to anyone according to Kozik. Just goes on club runs, goes through the motions, and disappears with a bottle until they need him again."_

"Shit." She doesn't know what else to say, really- what the hell _can_ she say when it feels like her heart's being broken all over again?

_"Tara-"_

"I can't-" Tara blurts out, frantically- the first tears finally escaping and rolling, hot, down her cheeks as she sits up, as if to make Donna understand. "I can't… _fix_ him. I can't help someone that makes me into their world, but then shuts me completely out of it. He's got my whole heart, Donna- I can't remember a time anymore when I didn't love him- but I can't keep letting him be my _everything_. Not when I can't _trust._.."

She leaves her thought unfinished- dangling between them, gesturing frantically as if Donna can see her.

_"I know, sweetie- I do. Christ, I don't know how you dealt with him shutting you out as long as you did. I'm not saying you can fix him- only Jax can do that, and until he gets his head out of his ass, you have to do this for you. All I'm saying is- maybe you should tell him that. You know how he is- he bottles things up, lets himself stew and drives himself half crazy before he finally unloads. It's just that this time… I dunno. Talk to him, Tara- for both of you."_

* * *

She'd long since hung up the phone- broken the connection between herself and Charming once again- but it's like she can feel the current still there, buzzing through her veins, leaving her open and vulnerable, exposing all the places she'd been sure the alcohol had closed off earlier tonight. And while she's more sure than ever that leaving had been the right decision- for _her_ -, Tara finds herself suddenly unsure about everything goddamn else. She's torn, between the relief that he doesn't seem to have moved on without her, and the absolute, utter frustration and guilt that he hasn't moved on in any other way, either.

Before she can stop herself- arrive at the same conclusion, make the same decision she'd made dozens of nights before this one- Tara's dialing a number she'd once known better than her own. Waiting as the ringing connects her to the one place in the world she can count on to answer in the middle of the night. She just hopes she's not making a huge mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N – I know, I'm terrible- it's been a long time. I also know that this chapter doesn't bring with it a lot of answers, but it's important to me to show a bit of what life apart is like for them. They're both struggling to move forward- Tara currently a bit more successfully than Jax. However, I think it's usually easier to be the one moving on and experiencing new things than being the one left behind- but that only comes once you work up the courage to make the move in the first place. We'll have to wait until next chapter to see more of how that's going to work out for Jax. It's my hope, with so much more down time, that these will start coming along a bit more quickly- especially as the real juicy stuff starts happening. As always, thanks to Ang R for all her help, and thanks for reading me- please leave a few words and let me know your thoughts.**


	4. Ch 3

***I own nothing you recognize***

Two rings in and Tara's heart's in her throat, her pleasant buzz having long since evaporated – leaving her with nothing but the awareness of what she's doing and all the reasons she hadn't done it the night before, the night before that… and every other night since she'd left.

Four rings and she's pacing the floor of her small apartment, as close to praying as she's been since she was a kid. Except she's not sure what it means that the litany she's whispering sounds a hell of a lot like _don't be Gemma… Don't be Gemma... Don't be Gemma…_

Seven, and she's torn whether she's relieved nobody seems to be around, or-

" _Club Reaper!"_

The voice is feminine, and decidedly _not_ Gemma- but still, the words leave her. Christ, her _breath_ leaves her, draining out of her lungs and stealing her ability to do what she'd set out to do. Even if she'd been moments away from hanging up the phone, and even if she'd have landed firmly on the side of relief no one had picked up. But the club- at least most of it- is there, as evidenced by the music and laughter in the background.

_Suck it up, Knowles, and stop being a pussy._

But before the resolve that's made its way into her spine can reach her lips, the voice comes again, irritated this time.

_"Club Reaper! Either speak up or hang up!"_

Shit. _Say something, Tara…_

"I... " Christ, this is harder than she'd even thought it would be. "Uh, is… is Jackson there?"

There. She'd done it… Jesus.

 _"Jackson? Jackson who?"_ The girl on the other end returns, and even half-hyperventilating, Tara can't help the way her eyes drift toward the ceiling at the false, saccharine-sweet innocence that oozes over the line.

"Jackson, uh, Jax Teller." She keeps her voice even, mild- despite her frustration. The last thing she needs is to piss this girl off, since she's got absolutely no idea when she'll grow the balls to call again.

 _"Oh, Jax_ Teller _,"_ the syrupy voice placates. _"Well, I'm sorry to tell you this sweetheart… but I just finished tucking him into bed a few minutes ago. He's gonna be real worn out for a while, so you should probably try back tomorrow."_

She wants to argue- she really does- tell whoever this girl is that Jackson Teller is hers, that anyone else who'd ever tried to come between them had failed… But she's stopped by the agony that's twisting in her chest with the realization that she'd been wrong on both accounts.

Jackson Teller is apparently no longer hers and now there's miles, days, and a goddamn world between them.

" _OK, sooo-"_ It's clear the girl is getting impatient, either to get back to Jax- God, there goes her heart again- or at least to end this particular conversation with someone who can't seem to fucking say anything. Until she's interrupted by someone in the background.

_"Lemme get past ya there, darlin'..."_

It's pathetic, really, what his voice still does to her. Christ, she's practically trembling- still reeling from the image of this nameless, faceless, girl cuddled up next to him in their- _his_ \- bed, and now swamped by the relief that _that_ , at least, appeared to be a lie.

"Jax?"

There's no response on the other end, just a brief rustling, a feminine murmur, and- the unmistakable, beloved sound of Jackson Teller's laughter in response to whatever the girl had said. She closes her eyes, allows herself to imagine for a moment that he's sharing that easy laugh with her.

_"A'ight, well, I'll be back in the apartment until then,"_

So this is what it feels like when your heart stops for the second time in about three minutes. Tara had thought she'd explored nearly every nook and cranny of the gamut of emotions she'd ridden in the last several weeks, but this… it's like some yawning hole had just opened somewhere in her gut, threatening to swallow her useless heart whole.

So he had moved on- and in exactly the way she'd thought he would. And she's suddenly finding that torturing herself, even punishing herself, with the thought is nothing compared to actually learning the truth.

It's a truth that's still echoing in her head when the girl's voice returns, a hint of smug satisfaction at its edges.

_"Don't worry honey- he's got all he can handle tonight."_

A click breaks their connection, leaving Tara gripping the phone so tightly she fears for a second she might break it.

 _So that's it, then,_ she tells herself moments later when she finds she can move again, gently replacing the handset on its receiver before crossing the room to sink back onto the bed. The emptiness she'd felt moments ago seems to seep into her veins, spreading a dull numbness everywhere it touches. The relief of the tears she'd thought would come once she was wrapped in her blankets again seems to be frozen, too, leaving her with nothing but what's turned out to be an even harsher reality than she'd anticipated.

Donna must have been mistaken; Jax had put her firmly behind him. Or, she reasons, he really has been stretching himself too thin between the club and the garage- too tired most nights for any of the usual SAMCRO revelry and content with his club, his whiskey, and his flavor of the night. Either way, he's clearly not suffering a need to hear from _her_ \- that's for damn sure.

Curling onto her side once again, Tara folds her arms against an invisible chill- despite the fact that it's still sultry outside and nearly as warm within- and listens as that internal voice comes back to haunt her once again.

_What did you expect? For him to just accept the fact that you'd packed up and left him? Act like a goddamn monk for nearly a decade while you went to some snooty-ass school?_

And she can't argue, not even with herself, over that one. Here she is- weeks too late, alone to boot, and still no closer to letting him go completely than she had been the day she left. And there isn't a damn thing she can do about it- not even cry.

* * *

Christ, it had been a long day. He'd had a full shift at the garage and a slate of SAMCRO duties, which wasn't helped by the fact that he'd volunteered to take on an extra protection run after hours when it had turned out JT and Piney had been held up somewhere or other.

Not that the details particularly interest him – hell, _nothing_ interests him anymore, Jax thinks grimly, hanging his helmet on his handlebar and dragging himself off his bike for the first time in hours. He'd taken the job for the same reason he'd taken all of them these past few months- to do what he can to make up for Ope's absence… and now that Tara's gone and he's here, alone, he may as well do what it is he'd set out to do.

Plus, he reasons, leaning against the bike and lighting a cigarette, the road is still the only place he manages to stop feeling like something's crawling beneath his skin- something slow and insidious he can't quite describe, even to himself. He'd felt it sinking into his veins the moment he'd shifted the Dyna into a lower gear and made the familiar turn towards Charming. Towards…

Jesus, he can't remember the last time he'd thought of coming back to the clubhouse as coming home. He just can't reconcile stepping into the apartment Gemma had cleared of every last trace of Tara- but was still the residence of all the ghosts of the memories of what they'd had- with the feeling of home.

JT and Gemma's house, too... Though he hadn't set foot in the place since his epic blowout with his mother, that house had long since stopped feeling like home, to him. Ever since Tara had moved across town into the apartment above the vet clinic- hell probably way before that- he'd learned what his father had said it had taken him decades to figure out…

Home isn't a place- it's a person.

Signing as the weariness seems to multiply the further he burns through the cigarette, he idly wonders for the umpteenth time what the fuck you're supposed to do when the person you consider home is just… gone.

Probably not this.

Starting across the lot, his cigarette hanging from his lips, Jax glances up briefly at the Teller-Winston sign on his way by, a corner of his mouth kicking up slightly at the thought of the night it had gone up. Then, he'd felt like he'd had it all- his best friend, the chance to prospect together for their fathers' club- and best of all, the girl of his dreams to see him through it. Now, it's all gone but the club.

Pausing by the picnic tables, he takes a moment to finish the cigarette. Even though every single patched member of the club lights up inside, plus his mother and half the croweaters- he needs just another moment before he has to don the Jax fucking Teller mask… Before he has to go be SAMCRO.

At some point- maybe after talking to Ope and even Donna a couple weeks ago, or maybe after the preceding night when he'd raced out to the goddamn reservation in the darkness, chasing the ghost of someone who'd left him behind- he'd realized he couldn't go on this way. Couldn't keep balancing on the fine edge of the blade that was his sanity. For one, if he kept going there, kept letting himself get dragged down into the open wound his heart had become, he wasn't sure he'd ever really get back out… And at the time, he hadn't much cared.

But time, and a little clarity, had him realizing that completely losing his shit was going to put his club right back into the tricky spot it had been left in. With Happy out of town more than he was in, Opie in prison, and Piney having received orders from his doc to fucking cool it for a little while… the club needed him. And so, despite the fact that he still wonders on a daily basis if he might just be dying inside- metaphorically, physically, emotionally, it doesn't fucking matter- he's managed to put his game face on.

Jax tosses his cigarette butt and swipes a hand down his face. He can't say he's been able to fool everyone into thinking he's unaffected by all of this- not that he's fucking talking to any of them about _her,_ God knows when he'll be ready for that. But he's at least found himself able to toss out a few ideas during Church, muster up what he's sure is a grimace at one of Tig's jabs, and down a few shots with Bobby or Chibs before heading back to the relative peace of the apartment. He snorts, heading for the clubhouse door… maybe _peace_ ain't the word.

But the fact remains- all he wants is to head inside, make a beeline for one of the bottles he'd seen his mother and the croweaters unloading into the clubhouse this morning, and head to the back to start working on drowning out everything else. And if he's got to exchange some pleasantries and wear the fucking mask to do it, well… fair enough.

It's time he gets as close to back on track as he can manage, given the circumstances. He owes it to them if nothing else. Gritting his teeth, he reaches into his pocket, reassures himself that the warm heavy metal is still there- it's become sort of a talisman, no matter how sentimental and fucked-up that makes him. Then, with a deep breath, he pushes his way through the heavy doors.

"Jackie Boy!" is what rings through the air of the relatively noisy clubhouse practically the moment he steps inside. Despite his mood, Jax has to smile a bit at the way Chibs had been greeting him ever since he'd turned up in Charming when Jax was a kid. Nodding, he makes his way over where Chibs is seated, and leans up against the bar between him and Kozik.

"How was the run, kid?" Kozik asks, lifting his glass and nodding at the croweater behind the bar, who ignores the incessant ringing of the bar phone to refill his glass.

"It was a'ight. Quiet," he shrugs- and it had been. He'd had to ride down past Fresno, escort some truck full of shit he hadn't even bothered to look into as it made a few deliveries- apparently the owners had had issues with a few rednecks hassing their drivers. Easy shit.

Koz had offered to ride along, but Jax had turned him down, knowing that the others had had a similar run planned over through Oakland and would need the extra manpower. More, he knows, he just hadn't felt like answering the questions he knew time alone with one of the most kindhearted members of his father's crew would bring. Kozik nods and claps Jax on the back, bringing him back to the present, squeezing his shoulder before turning back to his beer.

"Here y'are, Jackie-" Chibs interrupts his train of thought, sliding a shot glass towards him, and Jax rolls his eyes good-naturedly. Over the past week or so- since he's been putting in a bit more effort- he's become accustomed to the shots, the meaningless but friendly small talk, the forced jokes from his brothers. He knows they're just trying to help- knows they're cautiously bringing him back into the circle where they can after weeks of him struggling to keep his shit together..

Nodding at Chibs, he lifts the glass, slowly, before tapping it against the bar top and tossing it back. He's almost breathless a moment as the whisky- fucking Scotch, actually- steals his senses, but it's brief compared to the fiery burn he used to get after a shot with Chibs. He supposes that's what several weeks of polishing off a half a fifth of Jack a night will do.

"Everything alright, boy? Y'hear from our girl?" Chibs sets his own empty shot glass on the bar and narrows his eyes, his scars pulling in worry. It isn't the first time he's brought it up- won't be the last, either. Jax forces a grin- knowing it won't fool the man in the slightest- and responds in the only way that will get him out of this yet again.

"Naw. But I'm good, Chibby." Patting Chibs on the shoulder, he avoids looking him in the eye as he pushes away from the bar and heads around the end. Though Chibs, Kozik, and sometimes Bobby have been probing a bit, lately, they seem to be at least partly satisfied he's talking to any of them at all, and have mostly respected his nightly routine. Even the croweaters have kept a fairly wide berth, initially scared off by his ever-present bad temper.

Thankfully, Gemma's not here tonight, either. Though he's successfully avoided her so far, she can always be trusted to push her way into his business, and he's not prepared to listen to what he's sure will be a lengthy diatribe about Tara and everything she'd ever done to wrong him.

"Lemme get past ya there, darlin'," Jax says to the croweater behind the bar. She's finally answered the phone and is standing directly in front of his target- the case of Jack that's sitting on the floor next to the beer cooler. She smiles seductively at him- seemingly forgetting about the person on the other end- and moves the receiver to her chest before responding.

"Hey, JT wants to talk to you. Said to tell you he's meeting with Piney, but to wait for him- shouldn't take long." She winks at him, and he desperately tries to remember her name- Shara? Shayna? Shawna? In the end, he settles for a brief smile- which is a mistake, apparently, as it has her practically lighting up in response- and grabs his whiskey.

"You switchin' teams on us, man?" Tig's chuckling as he approaches the space Jax had occupied minutes ago, his arm draped around a croweater. He angles his head towards the bottle in Jax's hand, and clarifies- "I mean, you've been spendin' your nights with Jack and Jim here instead of-"

"Shut the fuck up, Tiggy," Kozik taunts, rising from his seat to pat Tig none too gently on the cheek. "Remember, Jax- this is comin' from the man who spends half of his nights with a female of a whole other species." And Jax laughs- genuinely belly laughs- for what feels like the first time in ages as Tig drops his arm to pull the all-too-familiar photo out of his kutte pocket.

"Missy's the only girl that's never fucked me over," he says, proudly, waving the dog's photo in Kozik's face.

"What should I tell JT? He wants to talk to you…" Shara/Shayna/Shawna asks, softly, recapturing Jax's attention. _Christ._ He's already not looking forward to whatever the hell _this_ is about, but he keeps his voice low, mellow, in spite of the dread that's already rising within him.

"A'ight, well, I'll be back in the apartment until then." She nods, returning to her phone call, as Jax brushes past her once again.

He's just on the other side of the bar when he feels it- a strange sensation at the base of his neck. It has his steps faltering, his mind hunting for its source for a few moments before he realizes where and when he'd felt it before.

_Tara._

Glancing rapidly around the clubhouse, it's immediately apparent she's not here- Christ, he'd have known the second he walked in, probably from the moment he'd pulled onto the lot. But then, where… Whirling, Jax stalks back to the bar, trying his best to keep his emotions at bay as the croweater eyes him curiously.

"Who was on the phone?" Jax demands, without preface. If she's taken aback by his sudden questioning, she doesn't show it, just picks up a bar towel and wipes her hands, casually.

"Just some chick, asking for you," she returns, shrugging. "They call every once in a while- God knows where they get the number- wanting to talk to one of you guys. Though it's usually someone for Tig or Bobby, asking about child support or something. Gemma told us to blow 'em off if they call." He glares at her, briefly, searching for any sign of bullshit. Finding none, he presses her again.

"And this wasn't Gemma?" She shakes her head, looking up at him through her lashes- Christ, he's sure she's going for innocent, but the gesture had only ever really worked for Tara as far as he's concerned.

_Tara._

"Who was it, darlin'?" He leans in and lowers his voice, urgently, does his best to soften the edges. He needs her to answer, doesn't need his brothers listening in. "This is important."

"She didn't say- just asked for you. Actually, she called you Jackson at first-"

Jax clenches his fists in frustration. Nobody calls him Jackson anymore, aside from Gemma. Christ, Tara hadn't even been able to bring herself to call him that once he'd allowed himself to slide deeper and deeper into the persona he'd had to put on for the club.

It used to be that his very name whispered across her full lips could set his heart racing, his blood pumping, and his skin prickling- just like it's doing right now. And instantly, he knows, somehow, that it had been her. Reeling, Jax rounds on the croweater once again.

"Has she called here before? Did she leave a number? Say where she was?" He pelts the croweater with questions and as she shakes her head, slowly, his desperation increases. "I gotta talk to her. Christ, I need her number- I… shit!"

Cursing again, he runs his hands through his hair, hanging his head toward the bar top, pulling at it in frustration as he realizes there's no way for him to do that, especially with the ancient handset that currently resides behind the bar. Closing his eyes, Jax feels the frustration and desperation churning relentlessly somewhere in his gut. But he knows that if he wants answers, he can't afford to unleash them on whoever happens to be in his path- at least not the way he wants to.

"What the fuck did you say to her?" he snaps, knowing it isn't much better than what his instinct had been. In fact, his ire has drawn the attention of Chibs and Kozik from the other end of the bar, but he doesn't much care. Tara's reached out to him for what he's almost certain is the first time since she'd left him. He'd been there- been _right fucking there_ … and too wrapped up in his own misery and distracted by his club to realize it.

"I, uh, nothing?" the croweater responds, now eyeing him nervously- probably aware he's about to fucking lose it. "I just told her what I would anyone who calls, especially at this time of night. Like Gemma said." Glaring, Jax bites back a retort and replies, levelly.

"And what, exactly, is that?"

"That I'd just tucked you in bed, and-"

The slam of Jax's hands against the bar top swiftly halts the rest of her sentence, and the roar that follows has even Chibs starting out of his seat.

"You _what?!_ " No longer able to contain his anger- not to mention the fucking punch to the gut he'd just received now that he knows Tara likely thinks he's back here unabashedly fucking croweaters in a pathetic attempt to put her behind him… Now that he knows his chances of hearing from her again are less than fucking zero… Jax feels the sudden urge to punch something- _anything_.

Then, an unseen force is dragging him backwards by his neck.

"Eeaasy there, Mike Tyson-"

The fight's already gone out of him by the time JT releases his collar- and Chibs lowers himself uneasily back onto his stool. The rest of the clubhouse looks on in silence- punctuated only by the Skynyrd still pouring from the jukebox- as his father reaches a firm arm around him, squeezing it almost painfully. He doesn't resist when JT guides him to the chapel doors, nodding at Piney as they pass.

"C'mon, Son. I think it's long past time we had a talk."

* * *

It's been a long time since he was in the chapel alone, with his father. Actually, Jax recalls, that conversation had also been by JT's request. He sighs, feeling shame bite at the edges of the memory; he'd been on the verge of losing his shit then, too- he'd just found what he'd thought was Tara's positive pregnancy test and the prospect of being a father had spooked the shit out of him.

He hadn't told his old man shit then, either. _That_ had come later, and, ironically, also at a time when he'd found himself unable to talk to Tara directly, over the phone. So much had changed since then… and yet he's pretty fucking sure the conversation's going to begin about the same as it had then:

" _I just wanted to check in; I know this shit's had you twisted up some since it happened, and-"_

_"Jesus Christ, I'm fine, Dad, alright?"_

Somehow, though, he knows in his gut that his protests of "I'm fine" aren't going to fly- not this time around. Not when he's spent the past weeks proving the goddamn opposite. Gritting his teeth against the thought of taking two steps back when he'd just managed to rein in his fucking pussy-ass, sentimental bullshit to the point where the club was finally beginning to look at him the same way once again, Jax shifts in his seat, impatiently.

"I'd ask you how you've been, Son, but I think we both know the answer to that question." JT lights a cigarette- a rare occurrence since his stint in the hospital a few years ago- and settles into his seat.

"I dunno what to say, Dad. I-" _Christ._ Quickly, Jax moves to pinch the bridge of his nose, desperate to halt the progress of the tears he can already feel forming, the thick lump that's set up residence behind his Adam's apple.

But when he removes his hand, JT's still there. Still fixing him with the intense, dark eyes he'd spent the first half of his teen years avoiding. He's the man who'd taken off to Belfast when his son had died, gotten too lost in his own pain to ask after the one who'd survived. Then, Jax had spent the second half of those same teen years observing, watching, emulating the once-broken man who had practically risen from the dead- both literally and figuratively- and reclaimed his club as his own.

And all at once, none of that shit seems to matter; not the club, not Belfast, Maureen, Clay… _none of it_. Jax looks at the man sitting across from him and maybe for the first time in a long time, instead of seeing John Teller, President and Founder- he sees John Teller, the man… his father. And he can't hold it in any longer.

"I fucked up, Dad." His voice breaks, and for once he doesn't give a fuck- just looks at his father, willing him to understand before his sight wavers and he's burying his face in his palms, finally letting the hot tears flow.

They stay- Jax with his head in his hands, his father reaching across the table to grip his shoulder, firmly- and he cries like he hadn't when Tommy died, when his parents had been too lost in their own grief to realize he'd elected to shut them all out instead. He cries like JT had never seen him do when he'd been lying in that hospital bed. He cries like he hadn't allowed himself to do- at least not sober and in front of any other living person- since Ope had gone away and Tara had left him.

And for the moment, it's enough.

When it's over and Jax is pressing his palms against his eyes- when he's sinking back into the chair and rifling through his kutte pockets for his own cigarette- JT's still there, watching him with an expression Jax can't quite decipher.

"How 'bout you tell me what had Tara takin' off without so much as sayin' goodbye?" JT jerks his head at the now firmly closed chapel doors, "And what's got you in my bar, yellin' at Shana-"

"She-" JT holds up a hand, shaking his head.

"I heard the whole thing. But what I don't know, is why you and Tara are so tore up that it's come to this."

Sighing, Jax rubs at his temples. It's a great fucking question, actually- how the hell had it all come to this? Not knowing where else to start, he shrugs, helplessly.

"After Ope went inside, I… I did what I _always_ do- tried to stay focused, keep my shit together… and it worked. But Tara, she..." Jax shrugs, not sure what else to say.

"She didn't take too kindly to you shuttin' her out once again." JT finishes his sentence for him and stubs out his cigarette, grimly. Jax sighs in response, knowing the shit's much deeper than that.

"I was dealin' with Ope bein' away, covering both his ass and mine here and over at the garage- Christ, Dad, I didn't have the _energy_ to let her in. And when she called me on it, I didn't even know what to say." JT nods, as if in understanding.

"So you said nothing-"

"I told her the truth," Jax shrugs, simply. "With Ope gone, it was like all the promises I'd made were comin' round and it was time to man the fuck up- for my club and for my brother." Clearly incensed, JT shakes his head.

"Sounds to me like what you _told_ her... Is that when it comes right down to it, the only promises that matter to you are the ones you make this club," JT bites, tersely. "Because while I got no clue of the specifics, I know damn well you two had made some sort of plan so Tara could go and make somethin' of herself. And I also know it didn't likely involve her leavin' you behind- not with the way this shit's got inside your head." Jax hangs his head.

"We were supposed to wait out prospecting, my first year or two with the club; Tara was gonna get an associates degree under her belt- and then we were gonna see where our options took us." Christ, he can't even bring himself to count the times he'd promised her they'd follow through with their plan- how many times he'd sworn to her they'd find a way to make it work.

"It was like fuckin' Sophie's Choice, Dad," he says, softly- knowing his father, of anyone, would understand the prospect of choosing between two equally terrible choices. "Fail Ope- _again_ \- and risk losin' my club… or risk losin' my girl."

Silence, for a long moment as his father studies him, shaking his head.

"And I'm tellin' you, you made the wrong fuckin' choice, Son."

"She made it for me- for _us_. She left without even givin' me a chance to-"

"She _is_ giving you a chance, Jackson- the chance to make the choice she knows you won't make for yourself, because you're too caught up in what you think everyone else expects of you. And I respect that, Son- I _do_. Your loyalty to this club, to Ope… it's somethin' special. But I've told you before- when you put club before family, that's when shit goes south." JT eyes him, grimly. "And you puttin' the club before your girl- well, that's a lesson you should've learned a long damn time ago." Jax can't help but snort in response, the frustration rising in him once again.

" _Lesson_ ," Jax scoffs, memories that had drained away so recently coming rushing back. "You mean like the one _you_ shoulda learned when you chose Belfast and an Irish croweater over your own family?" His father doesn't say anything for a moment, just smiles sadly as he studies him.

"The very same one. And it was all just a sad timeout. Hell, I've always owned up to the fact that I ain't been a good example of what to do." He shakes his head. "Fact, I've probably been a better example of the shit you're _not_ supposed to do. But look at what happened- I hurt the club almost as much as Clay did. Worse, I hurt your Ma, Trini, Thomas…"

At the mention of his youngest son, Jax sees the pain flash across his father's face the way he hadn't in quite a while, but he seems to swallow it before continuing.

"I hurt _you_ , Son. And it all happened because I let myself forget what was truly important."

_Jesus…_

"So what the hell am I supposed to do, Dad? Tara's gone, and I got no idea how to go about findin' her. And even if I did, it leaves the club short-"

"The club'll keep, Son- I told you that shit the first time we talked about this. We don't need quite as many guys as we did back when we were still runnin' guns, and we've had Happy back and forth…" Suddenly shaking off the thoughtful path he'd been going down, his father leans a bit closer.

"Christ, it doesn't matter, Jackson- I want you to have the options your Ma and I didn't have. If you want to go find your girl, find somethin' outside of the club, you'll have my support." JT means it, he can tell, which is why he feels like an asshole for dragging his feet, but all the doubts swirling around in his head right now need a voice, somewhere to go besides into the bottle of whiskey he'd been itching for since he'd made the turn into Charming.

"I tried the college thing, Dad. It…" Jax falters, momentariy, as a shadow crosses his father's face, but presses on, determined to finally get this shit out into the open so he can stop walking around like an open fucking wound. "I loved my classes, loved bein' with her- but the frat boy shit just ain't my thing." JT just shrugs.

"So you pull some hours at a nine to five-" Jax closes his eyes, frustrated.

"With what skills? I'm a fuckin' okay mechanic with a high school diploma. The only thing I know is this club!"

"And I told you back when you were in high school, Son- you want a transfer once all of this gets setted, I'm behind you. Piney's behind you- and I'm sure the club'll be on board, too. But this shit you're feedin' me right here? It sounds like a lot of excuses."

It's almost exactly what Donna had said- and Ope, for that matter. But like it or not, there are untold miles between him and Tara right now- and it may as well be a million after what's happened tonight. Between that and the fact that he's got absolutely no goddamn clue where- or how- to start, he's feeling even more defeated than he had when he walked in here. And from the disgusted look JT's giving him, it's a feeling the two of them share.

"Tell me this, Jackson- do you still love her like you told me you did when you were sixteen?" Sighing shakily, Jax raises tortured eyes to JT's, holding his gaze for the first time in a long time.

"I wish I could stop, Dad- then this wouldn't hurt so fucking bad." JT studies him a minute, seems to be looking for something, some sign to tell him whether or not Jax is ready for what he has to say next… And Jax has no clue whether or not he's found it. His eyes are stinging again, glassing over with unshed tears by the time his father stands, abruptly shifting to loom over Jax's seat at the Reaper table.

"Then you need to go after her, Jackson- you owe it to her, and you owe it to yourself. But you got to get your head on straight first, and that's somethin' nobody else can do for you." Squeezing Jax's shoulder, JT drops something onto the table next to him before making his way out of the Chapel, silently.

It's several long moments before the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes recede- before he trusts himself to stand, slowly, from the table. When he does, he sees what JT had left him with- a fresh journal.

The same small journals they'd both been writing in near-obsessively ever since his father's accident. The same type he'd tossed away that morning under the tree, and hadn't bothered to pick up again since. With all the doubts his mind's been swimming in, all the anger that had been pumping through his veins, it had just seemed like a whole lot of shit he didn't need- or want- to deal with.

But this one's fresh, unspoiled- a chance for whoever writes in it to start over. And as he slips the journal into his jeans pocket- nestling next to the solid weight of the gift he'd never given his girl… Suddenly it's like the once dim possibility that he could ever find his way in a world where Tara's not by his side here in Charming glows just a bit brighter than it had before.

* * *

The morning's bright and cool- a pleasant contrast to the muggy evening that had preceded it- and Tara finds herself cranking the massive front window of the Cutlass down before bringing the engine rumbling to life. And for a brief moment as she pulls out of her spot and cruises through the relatively deserted parking lot, she almost manages to recapture that feeling…

Those carefree weekends on the back of his bike, the wind in her hair. Her cheek against Jax's shoulder, the laughter they'd shared…

But that's when the parking lot ends, bringing her face to face with the world beyond. The moment she's confronted with the busy street before her- so far removed from Charming, which is practically quaint in comparison- the brief euphoria of the memory slips away, leaving her with only the reality before her. She's... _here,_ not in Charming. _Alone,_ not with him.

 _And he's moving on, he's made his choice,_ the voice reminds her- and for once, it's her own voice, not Gemma's or anyone else's. Although it's currently repeating one of the same, poisonous observations that had had her practically clutching at her heart in agony last night… Here, in the light of day, she knows it's the goddamn truth.

Gripping the steering wheel and gunning the Cutlass' engine, Tara's determined to stay in the moment- the here and now, no matter how poorly it compares to the past they'd once shared. Because here, at least from now on, the weight of other people's decisions is firmly off her shoulders. And as if she'd asked some sort of question aloud, the voice answers again, just as definitively.

_That's right, Knowles- nobody chooses your future but you._

It's a ten minute drive over to Student Health, a far cry from the long ride her body is almost craving to stave off thoughts of the night before- but it's time to accept that those are a part of the past just as much as he is. Sighing and smoothing her scrubs, Tara sets her sights on the glass doors of the clinic. At least she's got a distraction this morning.

Making her way into the reception area, Tara smiles as she notices Sarah- looking slightly worse for the wear- slumped in the office chair behind the receptionist's desk.

"Rough morning?" Tara drops her messenger bag behind the desk, nudging the chair with her foot. Sarah groans in response, dropping her forehead into her folded arms, her voice muffled as a result.

"I swear to _God_ , I'm never drinking again… I mean, seriously- how the hell did I let you talk me into taking those shots at the end of the night?" Tara snorts, taking a seat on the desk next to her friend's head.

"If I remember correctly, _you_ were the one that dragged us into the second game of beer ping pong or whatever it's called. And you were _also_ the one that didn't make a single shot the entire game." Tara raises an eyebrow, loftily, "I just chose whiskey shots over the other penalty those guys had in mind."

"At this point, I wish we'd gone streaking around the pool instead," mumbles Sarah, raising her head to focus, blearily, on Tara. "How are you this perky this morning anyway? You practically passed out in the back seat all the way back to your house."

"I think that might be the first time anyone's ever accused _me_ of being perky," Tara responds, snickering. "I've just had some practice preventing hangovers." Had she ever- years of watching her father down copious amounts of water and aspirin before he staggered back to his bedroom after a bender coupled with countless times doing the same herself after one too many pulls from the whiskey bottle she was sharing with Jax, Ope, and Donna had led her to take similar measures last night. Plus, there had been those two phone calls…

Yeah, getting slapped in the face with harsh reality at almost 1 AM will sober a person up real quick.

Oblivious to the abrupt change in moods in her friend, Sarah dons her own smirk.

"Well, at least I made some progress cracking through that thick shell of yours last night."

"And how's that?"

"I found out that our sweet little Tara is nothing short of a badass," Sarah responds, chuckling and tweaking the bottom of Tara's scrub top before lifting it, a little. Her initial smirk grows into full-on laughter as Tara twists away. "I'd've never seen that tat coming… But I gotta say, I'm impressed, Knowles- that's a serious amount of ink." _Oh, Christ._ Unsure what to say- and with no means of escape- Tara settles as she often does, on rolling her eyes.

"You already said that last night," she reminds her friend, hoping she'll just drop the subject.

"I was drunk," Sarah responds, waving her hand dismissively. "But now that I'm painfully sober, I need to hear more about the guy that's behind that tattoo."

"Well, let's see- he was about fifty, had longer hair than you do, and had a Sailor Jerry tattoo on his forearm he couldn't seem to stop talking about," Tara smirks.

"No, _dick…_ You know what I mean- _The One That Got Away_. Because nobody gets a tattoo like _that_ , especially not that big, without a deeper meaning behind it." Shaking her head- so far from ready to dive back into the pit of angst that had been last night- Tara finds she can only smile, sadly. After all, Jax is now truly how Sarah had just described him- the one that got away.

"Can I answer that later? It's… he's…" Blinking back the sting in her eyes, Tara looks away, briefly. "I guess I don't even know where to start, but I _do_ know it's gonna take a lot more time than we have right now."

The flash of sympathy in Sarah's eyes is brief, too- interrupted by the jingle of the bell above the door that signals the first patient of the morning. Rolling her eyes subtly, she scoots from behind the desk to greet him, leaving Tara to pull herself together for a second time this morning.

Thankfully, that initial visitor had seemed to flip some sort of invisible switch, and the normally steady trickle of students seeking STD tests, flu meds and more blooms into a veritable onslaught that gives Sarah no time to revisit the topic… and Tara precious little time to dwell on it either. In fact, by the time the clinic closes at noon and Tara's flipping the lock on the front door, her friend's still somewhere in the depths of the learning hospital the clinic's attached to- no doubt having been appropriated to help see to someone's continued care.

As grateful as she is for the relative silence as she straightens the pamphlets on the clinic's front desk- not to mention the brief reprieve she'd gotten from explaining the expanse of ink on her back- the busy work of closing down the clinic isn't enough to keep Tara's mind occupied. Instead, the thoughts filter through, even as she cleans the glass, straightens the chairs.

Can she really pull this off? Moving on? Or is this going to be her life from now on- staying busy, throwing herself into work and school in an effort to avoid the pain of thinking about what she now knows is going down in Charming... maybe even at this very moment?

With a sigh, Tara shoves viciously at a chair- as if it had been responsible for the past twenty-four hours- and reaches behind the counter for a bottle of hand sanitizer, ready to literally and figuratively wash her hands of the place for the day. Maybe lunch in the commons is in order. Surrounding herself with as many normal, happy people as possible sometimes does the trick, keeping her busy mind at bay. Plus, there's that statistics test on Monday she'd completely blown off in favor of going to the party last night…

Idle thoughts fade away as Tara rubs a thumb over the ink on the back of her hand, blurring the ten digits of the phone number she'd hurriedly scrawled there only slightly. And as if she's here, right next to her, Donna's voice fills her consciousness.

_"Go see him. Please? You're one of his oldest friends- practically since you were babies- and he needs us, all of us, right now."_

And suddenly, Tara knows in her heart exactly where she needs to be.

* * *

_They'd only been home from the hospital a few minutes, but already Tara felt like the walls of her house were scooting inwards, creeping closer and closer even as she settled slowly onto the living room couch and her father ushered her mom to the back bedroom to lie down. The cancer treatments had always seemed to make Grace Knowles tired, really. But now, after something the doctors had found a few weeks ago that had her staying in the hospital a few days instead of a few hours- and had her parents speaking in lowered voices, stopping whenever she entered a room- Tara had noticed that her mom is always tired. In fact, she'd rarely left the bedroom at all these last several days except to go to her treatments._

_The soft click of her parents' bedroom door signaled her father's eventual entrance into the living room. He himself was quiet, his measured steps unhurried, practiced at maintaining the level of absolute silence their household had fallen into recently. He settled into his chair, picking up a days-old newspaper and commenced looking at it, though Tara knew he wasn't actually seeing the comics section he was holding,_

_Instead, he was lost, somewhere, inside his own thoughts- worry creasing his forehead as the ticking of the clock on the mantle seemed to grow louder and louder and louder..._

_And suddenly, Tara felt like she couldn't be quiet- couldn't tiptoe, or whisper, or sit silently- any longer. She had to say something, do something, or she'd scream._

_Out. She's got to get out. Away from the silence, her father's frown… away from what she'd known for a few days they were all waiting for._

_"Daddy?"_

_Her father flinched- she could see him cringe at the way her voice cut through the thick air of the room even though it was practically a whisper- and she rushed on before he could shush her, remind her that her mother was resting… As if she didn't already know that for God's sake._

" _I'm going for a walk." ("See if Jackson and Harry are around," she didn't say- it would take too much time.)_

_Her father nodded, not looking at her. Actually, he never even dragged his eyes from the same Garfield comic he'd folded the paper open to minutes ago. Needing no further encouragement, Tara made for the door, careful to keep her feet quiet, mindful to close the door softly behind her._

_Once outside, though, she broke into a jog- no longer bothering to control her breathing. Instead, she gulped for air, tennis shoes slapping against the pavement as she made her way down the front walk and the sidewalk beyond. But even in the midst of the brief euphoria she felt when the fresh air hit her, the sight of Jackson's bike laying on its side in the Winston front yard seems to shine like a beacon, drawing her in until she found herself trotting up the front walk to thump on the Winston's faded wooden door._

" _Back yard" was all Mr. Winston grunted when he opened the door, a cigarette clamped between his teeth- though Tara appreciated the hint of a smile that crinkled his eyes as he stepped aside to allow her to cut through the house. Mrs. Winston waved, too, from her vantage point at the sink as Tara raced through the kitchen, practically bursting through the back door and into the open beyond._

_The Winston backyard was almost as familiar as her own by this point, and Tara's eyes immediately found the boys in their familiar corner, huddled between a long-neglected woodpile and the weatherbeaten fence. They'd spent most of the summer- and a good chunk of the school year so far- trooping through the Knowles backyard with their makeshift kuttes and holding top-secret club meetings in the playhouse back there._

_But just as things had grown still and silent inside Tara's home, it had only taken one afternoon to cure the outside of their noise. After one exasperated sigh and one flash of barely-restrained anger in her father's eyes- not to mention the sight of Grace Knowles wanly shuffling to the back bedroom… Tara and the neighborhood boys that had once roamed the block had since left the yard standing barren and silent as well._

_David had receded into the background- Tara only saw him at school, where she mostly avoided his occasional sympathetic glances. Kyle and both Baxter boys had practically disappeared altogether, having only been in it for the chance to play SAMCRO anyway. But both Jackson and Harry seemed to have made a concerted effort to stick around- spending just as much time here at the Winstons, staying close by in case she needed them, as they did terrorizing the neighborhood with the other boys._

_And almost as if they'd been reading her thoughts- jeez, sometimes it's almost like they can- both boys came boiling up over the ragged slab of plywood they'd fashioned as a makeshift clubhouse and Tara found her feet moving again to meet them halfway._

_"Hey, Tara," Harry smiled, giving Jackson one final shove before seeming to read Tara's trajectory towards the ancient, rusted swing set in the middle of the yard._

"' _Sup, Knowles," came Jackson's voice from a few feet behind, the President-of-SAMCRO walk returning as he recovered from Harry's jostling. Forcing a smile in return, Tara dropped down onto one of the plastic swings, pushing back and teetering on her tiptoes as Jackson neared and leaned in to press a brief, dry kiss to her cheek. Harry snorted, easing into the only other swing and causing Jackson to glare in his direction._

" _Ya know, if you're gonna act like a jerk every time I say hi to my Old Lady when you're the one who insisted she play Sons with us in the first place-"_

_And just like always, Tara tuned out the playful, half hearted arguing Jackson's new way of greeting her had caused since the beginning of the summer when she'd become a part of their game. Usually, it was because she'd started feeling warm and squirmy in her chest whenever his lips touched her cheek, and it was a strange sensation- distracting in its sheer novelty._

_Today, though… Today, she'd rather just think about nothing._

_Tara sighed, letting go of her hold on the ground and setting the swing into motion; dragging her feet and skidding forward, then back, forward, then back. She'd almost rocked to a complete stop before the sound of her name had her snapping to attention once again. It was Jackson, his brow furrowed with concern even as he slouched against the rusting swing set pole._

_"Tara… you 'kay?" Laughing- though she didn't really feel like anything was particularly funny- Tara shook her head, unable to stop the words that came next._

_"I'm not okay. Nothing's okay,"_

_God, had she said that out loud? Was that wavery voice really hers? She hadn't cried in front of them since... Crap. Stop it, Tara. Blinking rapidly helped, she found, and when her vision cleared again, both Jackson and Harry were standing in front of her swing, looking nervous._

_"Is, uh…" Harry swallowed and she could tell he didn't know what to say. "Is it your mom?" Not trusting herself to speak just yet, Tara nodded._

_"She's still in the hospital?" Jackson asked, shoving his hands in his pockets._

_"No, it's just… I dunno what's worse- my mom being sick, or the way everything's changed. I'm-" Crap, now the tears really were escaping- she swiped at her cheek before looking away, almost unable to look her friends in the eye. "I dunno what comes next."_

_She almost doesn't see Jackson lurching forward to hug her, at least not until he'd half squeezed the life out of her. Funnily enough, it's exactly how she'd usually hugged him on their long walks… the ones they'd taken because he didn't seem to know how to cry in front of anyone else. In fact, he'd outright refused to look like a baby in front of Harry._

_When Jackson stepped back, Harry, too, gave her a brief hug before settling back into his swing and wondering out loud,_

_"D'ya think your dad's just scared of the same thing? What might happen next?" Biting her lip, Tara dug her toes into the grass- she didn't know if the thought of her dad struggling with the same things as herself was comforting or not. On one hand, she felt a little better, a little less selfish, knowing he could be even more scared for himself than he was for her mom. On the other, though-_

" _Nah, he's a grownup though… a dad," scoffed Jackson, voicing aloud almost exactly what was going through her mind at the moment. "He ain't scared." He leaned against the swingset pole again, folded his arms stubbornly. Harry snorted._

_"Grownups do so get scared. When Pops and JT went away that time- last year, remember? Right after the lockdown? You and I both heard our moms talkin' about how they were scared for 'em." Then, it was Jackson's turn to laugh derisively._

_"Yeah, but they're old ladies-" Jackson argued, defiantly, and even Harry didn't have anything to say in return to that. After a beat, Jackson's eyes caught hers and the obstinate look on his face from arguing with Harry- one of their favorite pastimes lately- seemed to soften. "You know what my mom told me? It's okay to be sad- 'specially when our dads are in jail… or when someone's sick, stuff like that." He looked away, quickly, eyeing Harry cautiously before rushing onward._

" _But when he's gone, I'm the man of the house- and men take care of business." Jackson shrugged, resting his head on the pole, and Tara was again reminded of the way he'd come to her when his daddy had been in jail- waited until Harry was safely out of earshot before telling her all about how JT was locked up. How this time, he'd been taken away right in front of Jackson, Gemma, and baby Tommy._

" _So I just stand tall and put on a smile and… I dunno, Tara." Jackson's eyes skittered back to hers- understanding and stubborn all at the same time. "Sometimes people just gotta pretend."_

_Tara was silent for a long moment, still trying to work out exactly what he meant, when the air was split by Mrs. Winston's raspy voice through the kitchen window._

_"Jackson! That was your ma on the phone- she says to get on home for supper!" Tara could tell he was about to argue by the way he glanced at her and Harry first- the way he screwed up his mouth to reply- when the voice came again. "And Gem says if she has to drive over here and haul your ass home like she did the last time, she's takin' away your bike for a week!" Properly forewarned, Jackson snapped his mouth shut and rolled his eyes._

_"I guess I gotta go. See you guys tomorrow?" Harry nodded, rising out of his swing to perform his half of the not-so-secret handshake he and Jackson had been perfecting since the beginning of the summer. Tara smiled, weakly, accepting his customary kiss on the cheek once again and watching along with Harry as he bolted through the gate and into the front yard- neatly avoiding Harry's mother in the process._

_Sighing, regretfully- thoughts of her dad starting dinner alone swirling amongst memories of the last dinner they'd had together… One where nobody had had much of an appetite anyway- she raised her eyes to Harry's. Pushing away the fact that he seemed to be studying her, cautiously, Tara tilted her head in the general direction of her house, over the far edge of the fence._

_"I should probably go too- my dad might want help with dinner." From the look on his face as his gaze followed her gesture, Tara couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking what she was thinking- if there was really a point in her going home at all._

_Still, she'd learned over the past few months that it was best not to rock the boat. Missing dinner, even if her mom didn't come out to eat it with them, was a sure way to rock the boat. Maybe she could say she wasn't feeling well, hide out in her own room. Or maybe-_

_"Tara?"_

_Harry's voice interrupted her thoughts. From the look of it, though, it wasn't the first time he'd said her name. She gave him a smile- the best one she could, really- and, wiping her hands on her jean shorts, stood up from the swing to join him. He smiled in return._

_"C'mon, I'll walk ya home."_

_They were several steps outside Harry's back gate- walking along the fenceline to the front walk, both silently agreeing to take the long way instead of cutting through the neighboring yards as usual- before either of them spoke again._

_"Uh, Tara?"_

_"Mmhm?" At her response, Harry halted- his long legs reaching the sidewalk before hers. He scratched at his neck nervously, waiting for her to catch up, sandy brown hair flopping over his eyes._

_"Well I- uh..." Harry stammered, looking away as they began walking again. "I just wanted you to know- I get scared too, sometimes. Ma and Pop, they… well, they ain't gettin' along so good anymore. She hates that he's in the club, 'specially after he went to jail, ya know? They yell at each other and stuff- kinda a lot, actually. I dunno if you hear, or-" he shrugged._

" _I know," she murmured, glancing up at Harry and sending him a brief, reassuring smile just because. He returned it, but it dropped from his face quickly; he seemed to be struggling with what to say next, so they just walked in silent companionship for a few moments. It was only when they turned up her front walk that Harry broke the silence once again, clearing his throat awkwardly._

_"It's just that no matter what Jackson says, everyone gets scared sometimes, Tara. Whether our dads are in jail, or fighting with our moms, or someone's sick... or whatever. And, uh… I mean, it's okay." Stopping at the Knowles front door, Harry waited on the bottom step, as Tara stepped up onto the second, turning to face him. She was surprised to see him pinkening, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing at the house behind her before letting his eyes rest on hers this time and continuing, seriously._

" _We shouldn't have to hide how we're feelin' just 'cause of what other people might think."_

_Tara doesn't know who moved first. In fact, all she knew was that the moment Harry's arms wrapped around her, their shoulders evenly matched for the first time since they were six, she felt like she could face her house again._

_It was several long moments before he backed away, blushing further and stammering something about getting back home before his mom called down the street looking for him. But before he turned to head back down her walk- before Tara grasped the door handle and returned to the house that had become more like a tomb than a home- he uttered the one thing she found she'd needed to hear all along._

_"We'll always be here for you, Tara. I promise."_

* * *

God, how had things gotten so fucked up?

Memories fade as she shifts on the hard plastic chair, the brutal reality of her current location setting in once again, though somehow, it's not quite as bad as she'd anticipated.

Tara doesn't know what, exactly, she'd expected from Stockton State Prison's visitor waiting room. Maybe something that represented the captivity of the prisoners within. Maybe bars on the windows, rolling metal doors to seal them inside, punishing all of them for daring to love someone who'd wound up in here.

Instead, the room she's sitting in resembles nothing more threatening than the DMV she'd taken her driver's test at years ago. There's just rows of uncomfortable plastic chairs, a glassed-off office housing a bored-looking officer and a desk full of paperwork, and several anxious men and women. Almost nothing to indicate that beyond the locked metal doors on the other side of the room are their loved ones- living in this prison for the next several years at least.

"Visitors for Ortiz, Johnson, and Walsh, step this way, please!"

As a pleasant looking older woman, a slightly intimidating man that reminds Tara, oddly, of Tig, and a young woman carrying a squirming toddler file to the front of the room, her thoughts are drawn back to that day in her childhood.

Christ... Years- and, sadly, a whole mess of experience with emotionally stunted men- later, it's apparent that even then, Jax had had difficulty admitting he wasn't a machine… except around her, though at some point that had apparently changed.

What _hadn't_ changed, though- besides the fucking Teller mask and its origins (which, she's now more sure than ever can be traced back to the way Gemma had trained her son to hide his emotions) is the way that Opie had always done his best to be there for them both.

And, apparently, Tara responds to the situations she just can't handle. God, she'd run off the day her parents had revealed her mom's cancer diagnosis, again towards the end when the silence of her house became too much to bear… Hell, maybe getting whisked off to San Diego after her mom died and her dad completely lost his shit had been the final straw in establishing her go-to pattern of behavior- running away and leaving her problems behind her.

Except, of course, it doesn't really work. Her troubles seem to follow her wherever she goes. And as much as she'd loved him- _still do_ , her heart is quick to remind her even though it's still reeling with betrayal- she'd also meant what she said to Donna over the phone. She can't live for just one person anymore- especially not if he's determined to push everyone else away. She deserves more… and so does he.

 _And so does Opie_ , her mind reminds her, silently, even as it fills with the memory of the over-large, slightly freckled boy he'd been. He'd always been there for both she and Jax as much as they'd let him- an essential component of their Three Musketeers. He'd accepted her back into his circle without a second thought when she'd returned to Charming, had been the one to prod both she and Jax to cut the shit and quit fooling themselves.

Then, he'd been a relatively tolerant- though always sarcastic- third wheel during the beginning of their relationship before bringing Donna into the fold and completing their little foursome… something she missed almost as fiercely as she misses her relationship with Jax.

And while she knows both Jax and Donna had been visiting, probably since the moment they were allowed, it doesn't change the fact that it had taken her this long- and a plea from Donna herself- to show up here. She'd called the prison number Donna had given her from a pay phone in the student union, had been pleasantly surprised to find that Opie had already included her name on his visitor's list… and then quickly demurred when the woman on the phone had asked if she wanted to schedule a visit for the next day.

She did- _God,_ how she'd suddenly realized she needed to go see him right then- but that would mean chancing running into Jax and Donna in the parking lot, or, worse, here in the waiting room. And if there was one conversation she didn't want to have within Stockton State Prison, it was _that_ one. So, she'd taken her next free day- a weekday without class or work ( _a day you know good and well Jax won't be visiting_ , her mind supplies, chidingly) and made the drive.

"Visitors for Winston?"

Pushing down the last dregs of guilt, Tara rises, nervously smoothing the jeans and simple, green, cap-sleeve shirt she'd chosen what now seems like ages ago. Smiling wanly at the guard- who doesn't return it, just slides a keycard into the door and yanks it open- she makes her way across the room to pass by him and through to the harshly lit hallway beyond.

At its end is a large open room, housing a number of metal tables not dissimilar to the cafeteria tables she'd once sat at during her days at CHS. What _is_ starkly different- although much closer to the image of a prison she'd built up in her mind- is the scattering of orange-clad prisoners already seated at many of the tables. She shudders a bit at the dark metal bars bolted in front of the thick glass blocks that make up the room's windows.

As the guard silently directs her to a table near the middle of the room, the buzzing of the door signifies the entry of another prisoner- and she doesn't know if even her darkest imaginations of this moment could have prepared her for the sight of Opie in prison orange, his hands cuffed in front of him.

_Oh Harry…_

Tara remains standing, fingers clutching the edge of the metal table even as the rest of her body betrays her. She hates the way her knees threaten to give way, the way the tears immediately prick at her eyes and the way her lips go numb. But goddammit, what she hates more is the sight of her Opie- seemingly unable to meet her eyes as a guard releases his shackles, somehow more like the sweet boy he'd been throughout their childhoods than ever- a prisoner in this awful place.

Resolutely, Tara straightens her spine, swallows the sob that had been threatening to rip free, practically wills the tears to dry up. Not because Opie expects it of her- he'd never ask her to hide her feelings, and that moment on her front doorstep over a decade ago was just the first proof of that fact. She knows that if she loses it now, she'll spend the whole visit a fucking mess and she just doesn't know if she has the energy to deal with that yet again this week.

And then, she's in his arms. It strikes her that even here in a fucking prison- even though he now dwarfs her like he hadn't years ago, and even though months and miles and even secrets have come between them since the last time she'd seen him, she still feels better encased in an Opie Winston bear hug.

Moments tick by before he releases her, dismissing the guard that approaches to remind him about too much contact. Still, it's just what she's needed, and suddenly she feels like she can do this. She can be here for him because she knows that they're here for each other.

"Hey Knowles," Opie says, now smiling at her a bit more easily, meeting her eyes as he takes his seat on one side of the table and invites her to do the same.

"Hey yourself, Winston," Tara murmurs, easing into her own seat. And just for a moment, they grin at one another, as if they're not currently sitting in a fucking prison.

Christ, it's good to see him- it's been months, the longest she's gone without talking to her friend since she'd moved away as a child. Even though the rest of her life is so fucked-up at the moment, some little piece of her seems to slide back into place.

"You doing okay? I mean, are they treating you okay?" Tara asks, then, unsure what they're really supposed to talk about in here. _Keep things positive,_ she notes, remembering the instructions she'd once heard someone or other give Opie himself- back when he was visiting Otto.

Opie shrugs, settling his prison-issue black beanie more firmly onto his head, covering all but the longest strands of hair that escape it. Had she really jarred it loose?

""Bout what you'd expect, I guess. Every day in here's the goddamn same, but my cellmate's an alright guy and we keep each other sane." He chuckles, a grin curling the mouth that's almost hidden, now, by the beard he doesn't seem to have trimmed since the last time she saw him. "'Course, he's nothin' compared to you and Jax... but then our jail consisted of that weird-ass tree on the playground, so I guess that's to be expected, too."

Groaning, Tara laughs, too, at the memory of the younger version of herself- herded, along with her two best friends, into a shaded ring created by the gnarled aspen trees at the edge of the CES playground. That time, it had been David Hale hauling them in after some game of cops and robbers had resulted in the bad guys losing. This time though… her laughter fades as she studies Opie again, altogether unconvinced that the kind soul she'd known since she was old enough to run down the block could ever actually be one of the bad guys.

Seemingly sensing her change in mood, Opie smiles, reassuringly- though his eyes remain guarded, searching.

"I really am okay, Tara. I just need to keep my shit together and get the hell out of here as soon as I can. Rosen thinks he may be able to work a deal since they basically fucked me out of any contact with him. Says I should've been given at least twenty-four hours to decide whether I wanted to take their plea deal, plus time to discuss it with him. I could be lookin' at a few years instead of the ten if things go the right way."

"Oh, Ope- that's great. Really,"Tara breathes, suddenly needing some way to show her relief and reaching across the table to clasp his hand. "Donna didn't mention-"

"I ain't told her yet," Opie interrupts, though he squeezes her hand in return. "I didn't want to get her hopes up until it's something a little more solid." He looks away, briefly, before his eyes return to hers. "Thank you for callin' her. You wouldn't believe how much she's missed you."

Guiltily, Tara looks away, withdrawing her hand from Opie's- suddenly feeling as if she hasn't earned his reassurances, his thanks.

"Ope, I'm sorry I'm not there with her. I'm-"

"Tara look at me." Slowly, she raises her eyes to find Opie's warm hazel meeting her soft green. "She misses you, I meant what I said. But she's okay- I can't tell ya how much I appreciate you settin' her up in your apartment, workin' things out with Koz's old lady. Knowin' she's got somethin' stable… Christ, it's the only way I'm gonna sleep, nights, for the next few years."

"Opie-" He chuckles, briefly, waving her off.

"'Sides, she's got more than she can handle with Gemma halfway up her ass all day, and Piney draggin' the club by when they ride back into town at night." The twinkle of humor in his eyes fades a bit as he regards her seriously. "Do me a favor though- stay in touch with her, would ya?"

"Of course I will," Tara rushes to agree. He doesn't need to know just how much it had taken for her to call in the first place. And, unwilling to reveal just how desolate she'd been, how afraid she'd been to reach out, she's more than aware that he needs this reassurance just as much as she herself needs to talk to her old friend.

"Thanks. I'd tell ya to give Pop a call, but that old man wouldn't stop lecturin' you for not leavin' word long enough for you to get a word in edgewise. 'Sides, he's been doin' his best, like I said, but I guess his doc's told him to slow it down a little lately. That's why Jax's been the one to bring Donna up for visits."

Really, she doesn't know if his name will ever _not_ send a jolt of longing sluicing through her veins- though she can't help but feel a little ridiculous at the same time, especially since Opie appears to be watching her carefully.

She'd known Jax would come up, and knew Opie wouldn't let the first half hour they've had together in months pass by without trying to work his way to the bottom of what's going on between them. In so many ways, he'd served as their voice of reason in their worst times- and of course, he's going to want to make a case for his best friend now.

But still, Tara laughs lightly, tries to keep her voice airy.

"I'm sure he's happy to do it. And so am I." Opie leans closer, scrubbing his hands across his face.

"You know as well as I do that Jax ain't what we'd call _happy_ these days."

"Ope, I really don't want to talk about thi-"

"Well, we're gonna, Tara," he snaps, and it's so unlike him- unlike their conversation so far and unlike everything she'd ever known of Opie Winston- that the dread she'd been ignoring since she stepped in here seems to expand. Hell, it's like it's doubling somehow, at what she's sure is the impending onslaught of his disappointment in her for abandoning his best friend. Opie looks away, seeming to focus on the windows across the room.

" _We're_ gonna talk about it, because the two of _you_ damn sure didn't talk about it." A protest- that she'd _tried_ to talk to him, so many times- bubbles up, but it dies on her tongue when Opie continues. "I know most of that was Jax's doing- I know how bullheaded he can be when he thinks he needs to do somethin… _Be_ somethin' for everyone else. You forget- he's been here twice to see me, and I've heard all the shit I need to hear about how he's been since I got locked up."

Tara nods, numbly, unsure of what to say, and Opie's gaze returns to her, softening a bit.

"I wish the two of you had told me about goin' off to college together. I mean, I know why you didn't- I was actin' like a brat for a while there- but I'd've gotten my head outta my ass eventually." At this, Tara's eyes fill with tears.

"It doesn't matter now, though, does it? I-" Shit, her voice is breaking. "I don't know if he ever planned on leaving Charming, not _really_. But I had to go, Opie, I just couldn't stay another day and wait for him to decide to let me back in again. Not when it meant losing everything I worked my whole high school career for… and even if it meant leaving Donna. And I'm so sorry about that, Ope, I-"

"Hey- didn't I just tell you I know how he is?" Opie gently lifts her chin. "I ain't tryin' to give you a hard time, here, Tara- I swear. I just wish it didn't have to come to this, you know? You, off at school by yourself, and Jax barely keepin' it together in Charming-"

"Yeah, _barely,_ " Tara snorts, jerking backwards so sharply she nearly loses her balance. Opie's brow crinkles in confusion. "I _know_ how he's been _keeping it together_ , Ope- I called the clubhouse after Donna practically begged me to talk to him. Convinced me that I'd crushed him when I left town. Instead, I got an earful of just how _lonely_ he really is."

Tara watches for a brief moment as the realization dawns on Opie's face, and then can't help the venom slipping past her lips any more than she can the poisonous thoughts that had preceded them the past few nights- and whenever she'd let her mind unoccupied for longer than a few moments.

"You see, that's how Tellers deal with pain- they bury themselves in someone else. And Jax- well, it was only a matter of time before he found _someone_ to help him deal with the fact that you're in here. God knows it couldn't be me- I left him when he needed me the most…Too bad it was also when _I_ needed _him_ the most. But when I called- maybe to check in on him, or maybe it was to apologize for leaving like that… Christ, I don't know why I called, really. The point is, I _heard_ him, Opie. He _and_ his newest croweater. She-"

Opie reaches across the table to grab her hand, almost roughly. It's enough to briefly stop her diatribe, but a sharp sob escapes her lips anyway- sending a guard rushing to their table. He's looming threateningly over Opie before Tara can respond, holding up her hands.

"No, no- I'm okay. I'm sorry, I just got a little… emotional." She tries to smile sweetly at the guard, but he looks unconvinced. Still, the guard backs away, not quite managing to fade into the background as Opie casts him a withering look. His attention is back on her in an instant, though, seizing her brief moment of silence to get a word in edgewise.

"Tara, I know what you _thought_ you heard- hell, I had to hear all about that shit from Jax the other day." Tara's mouth drops open in surprise- Jax had told him? Opie just shakes his head, and Tara can't quite decipher his expression. "I guess I was hopin' he was wrong and that it hadn't been you on the phone- or maybe that you hadn't interpreted all that shit the way he thought you would. Which is exactly like this, by the way. But I shoulda fuckin' _known_ \- 'cause since when have you two _ever_ made things easy on yourselves?" Opie snorts, wearily rubbing the bridge of his nose. Tara smiles, sadly.

"Opie, I know what I heard-"

"No," he replies firmly, "you don't. That shit you _thought_ you heard was nothin' more than a croweater doin' what croweaters do. Jax said he realized right away it was you on the phone, said he demanded to know where you were, what you'd said… And when the chick told him what she'd said to you, he lost his goddamn shit on her."

"Opie-" He shakes his head, pinning her gaze with his own.

"Listen, Tara- I told you. I ain't gonna give you shit for leavin' Charming. Not now. Christ- even Jax knows you deserve to make somethin' of yourself, be the doctor you wanted to be, and you can't do it there. He's been beatin' himself up about it, too- but he's also so goddamn torn up about what he thinks he owes the club… me… his old man…"

Opie sighs, heavily, his own guilt appearing to creep in.

"That ain't your fault, trust me- but Jax… he ain't the same since you left. He walked in here on Sunday and I barely recognized him, Tara. And I'm not sayin' that to try to convince you to go back, or nothin' like that. You're exactly where you need to be, wherever that is, and he needs to get his head on straight before he can make things right between you anyhow."

Her mind swirling, once again, Tara watches as Opie makes his case. He's got no reason to lie to her and even if he did, she knows he wouldn't do that. Not even for Jax- that much she knows for sure. And Jax really had no reason to bring the whole thing up to Opie- it wouldn't have been worth risking what's always been Opie's protective instinct. No, he wouldn't risk Ope's wrath to cover his own ass.

But even if Opie's right, what's changed, really?

"Why are you telling me this, Ope?" Her voice is thick, but she doesn't bother to try to hide it- not now. "I'm sure you have a lot more to worry about in here than me, Jax, and our failed relationship." Opie smiles, ruefully, and tilts his head at their surroundings.

"Christ, _look_ at me, Tara- I got nothin' _but_ time. Ten years, in fact- maybe three if Rosen's right and I'm lucky. I got years before I get to be with my girl the way I want to. And I ain't standin' by and watchin' my two best friends put themselves through the same shit for no goddamn reason." He watches her, silently, for a moment. "I know Jax better'n anyone, and I _know_ he's a stubborn asshole. But I also know I ain't never seen anyone love someone the way he loves you… And once he gets his head out of his ass, he'll realize it too. The only problem is, when he does, he ain't got a clue where he needs to go to make things right." Tara shakes her head, miserably.

"Trust me, Opie, if he wanted to find me, he could have-"

"He _will_ ," Opie interrupts, firmly. "But until he's got his own shit sorted out, he doesn't need to know where you are. Else, he'll go flyin' over there tomorrow, hell for leather- and you'll both be back in this exact same mess by the time I get outta this hellhole."

Christ, he's probably right about that. God knows, if Jax had come after her in those first couple weeks, she'd probably have broken down and followed him right back to Charming. Where the hell would that have left them but in the same predicament as before?

Tara shakes her head in disbelief. Opie and Donna both seem to see her leaving for what it truly was, somehow, and the thought that at least her friends don't hate her is almost overwhelming in the moment. This time, though, she quells the tears that rise in her eyes as the guard gives them the ten minute warning, and Opie's eyes crinkle from the effects of a sad but genuine smile.

"Will ya at least put my mind at ease and let me know where you're headed?"

Tara bites her lip- tempted beyond all belief to give in-to share what's become more of a secret than she'd ever intended it to be with someone else… And who better than Opie, the one person she's always been able to trust to have her back? It's just…

"I'm in here because I know way too goddamn well how to keep my mouth shut," Ope murmurs, accurately reading her hesitation. "So you don't have to worry about SAMCRO… or Gemma." He snorts, rolling his eyes before sobering once again. "And like I said, Jax don't need to know shit until he's good and ready. But someone's gotta know where you are, Tara- just in case shit hits the fan. And since I'm assuming Donna and I are the only ones you've talked to…"

He lets the implication dangle for a moment before reaching across the table once again to cover her hand with his much larger one.

"So, whaddaya say, Knowles? Do you trust me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A/N- The back half of this chapter took me much longer to write than it should have. Thanks to Ang as always, for talking me through the mess I always start out with after the first draft. Most of all, thank you for sticking with me. If you take the time to read, please consider leaving me your thoughts as well. Stay safe!


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